Hermione Granger and the Crystal of Time
by Aurette
Summary: Hermione stumbles upon a conspiracy full of murder, mystery, mayhem, and unending betrayal. Will the man she turns to for help betray her heart? AU/M for reasons.
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** Hey, Y'all! You know about my solemn vow never to start posting a story until I finished it, right? Well. That's why you haven't heard from me in forever. Stress is a Muse-killer, and my stress levels achieved ludicrous heights, to the point where I was screaming, "What? _What?_ Can't you see I have too much to deal with right now?" at the poor woman handing out free samples in the supermarket.

However, at long last, things simmered down for a minute and one of my half-baked stories finally found an ending. Unfortunately, it's not the one I was reeeeally hoping it would be, namely, the fic that I've been working on for drinkingcocoa. I promise, hon, I will find a way to finish that one. One of them. I ran the first one into a wall, so I actually started a second one for you. Then I ran_ that_ into the wall as well. I _will_ get it done, I swear on my first born. It's just really starting to look like I won't have it done before last Christmas, like I'd hoped. o.O This fic, was started a year ago, and abandoned seven months ago, but my blowzy muse popped back up and handed me the end a couple of weeks ago. There's no SPaG beta, I just wanted to slap it up and not make anyone, including myself, wait any longer. However, it _is_ undergoing an intense BritPick by my ever-patient **Hebe GB**, and requires a good amount of editing so it stops reading like chapters were written a year apart. Therefore, there will most likely not be any massive chap spam.

**Not Mine, No Money.**

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><p>:<p>

Hermione sat at her desk in her tiny office in the Ministry and stared at the newspaper with shocked sadness. The small article in the Daily Prophet told of the tragic demise of Fawkler Sparrow, 38 years of age, married with three children. He had apparently suffered a fatal splinching upon returning home from the pub two nights ago. The article went on to exhort the public to be more mindful of the possible dangers of AUI—Apparating Under the Influence—and cited grisly statistics intended to scare them into compliance.

Hermione winced at the parable-like tone that seemed to erase the tragedy, rather than magnify it. Her section of the Department of International Magical Cooperation might have been small, but it was tightly knit, and the death of a member was a hard blow for them. Fawkler had been universally liked within her section.

"Miss Granger?" said Alonso Behari from the doorway. "Did you see the paper this—Oh, you have it there."

"Yes, I just saw it," she said. "What are we doing?"

The Assistant CSO sighed heavily, his long, silver-shot moustache twitching from the grief he tried to contain. "I've owled the florist, and begun a collection for his widow. I fear we might not collect as much as when Rigley died. Too many deaths in the department this year. People are never as generous with a third one."

"Third?" she asked, looking up. "Who else?"

"Emerson Thackeray. He was out running the lines when he fell off his broom a couple of months before you took over for Philips." Alonso heaved a heavy sigh and waved a hand toward the newspaper she still held. "May this be the last. They say tragedy strikes in threes, and three deaths within a small department in one year are too much."

Hermione winced at the grief in the man's tone.

Alonso might have been her junior in the hierarchy of things, but he was old enough to be her great-grandfather and far more qualified for her job. He'd been an enormous help to her when she'd been thrown into the office upon the sudden retirement of her predecessor. He'd declined the position of Chief Section Officer himself, saying that he and his wife were planning on moving to India early next year. He'd only agreed to help the Department transition her into the job before he left.

Hermione didn't know how she would cope when he left. She depended on him for everything. She'd still been a mere administrative assistant in the Office of the Ministry Budget when she'd been tapped for this job. What had seemed like a huge promotion at first blush appeared to be a bit of a dead-end with hindsight.

Still, however boring the job was, the pay was good, and the people under her had been warm and welcoming, a far cry from the dozens of bean counters she'd worked with before who could never remember her name.

"When is the wake? And how is it none of us knew until we got the paper this morning?"

"Fawkler's Maire had to be sedated," Alonso replied, "and his lambs went to stay at his mother's. No one thought to tell any of us. The wake is tomorrow. The Funeral is the day after."

Hermione dropped the paper on her desk. "Let the staff know that tomorrow will be a half day, and the office will close Wednesday for the service." She sucked in a breath and blew it out, before looking up at him. "Should I do more?"

The kindly man shook his head. "No, dear. You did fine. Keep your chin up, and circulate around the office. Just give an ear, let them all talk. Remember you have to keep a small distance, they will want that veneer of Authority for comfort."

She nodded. "Thank you, Al."

"Would you like me to send for some tea?"

She nodded. "That would be lovely."

:

"Such a tragedy," whispered Erina Kith as they walked together from the Apparition site toward where the family was gathered by the gravesite. "So much tragedy…"

Hermione pulled her handkerchief from the sleeve of her tailored black robes and pressed it into the field agent's hand. "It is. It really is. Chin up; we must be strong for the little ones. I fear if we all go to pieces, we will only upset Fawkler's girls even more than they already are."

She patted the other woman on the back and urged her on toward where the rest of their coworkers were standing. Hermione stepped off to the side, trying to gauge the proper distance. Family took precedence; she could see them gathered around Maire Sparrow and her three girls, forming a buttress of support. Next came friends, of which most were the deceased's former coworkers. They spread out around the smaller group like an honor guard. Hermione stood just beyond them, but to the side, so she could easily be seen. She thought that struck a good balance between being his boss, and therefore a representative of the Ministry, and also being the one person here who knew him the least.

She kept her face somber, and made sure her own grief didn't show. It was difficult. Fawkler had been a boisterous and gregarious man, and it had taken little effort to like him. He, like most of the field agents, only came in to the offices once a week, but the whole place had seemed to light up when he was there.

And they had needed that. The atmosphere in the office was heavy. It had only been four months since they'd lost Rigley Pepperton, another field agent. He'd been only twenty-nine when he'd died in his sleep from an irregular heartbeat. Hermione hadn't known him well either, and had only been in the department for a few weeks. She felt she'd fumbled badly when it had come to expressing her sorrow to his partner. She was determined to not make a hash of things this time.

The minister straightened up from where she had been speaking softly to the widow and a ripple of throat clearing and deep breaths signaled that the ceremony was about to start. She took a quick look around to see if anyone was missing, and smiled when she saw Caleb Lloyt walking up to the group with his usual rolling gate. He gave her a nod and a wry twist of the lips that conveyed both pleasure at seeing her and sadness at the circumstances. She nodded to him, hoping it looked comforting and managerial at the same time.

Caleb was the one person in the department that she had trouble maintaining boundaries with. Mostly, because he was a bit larger than life. Nearing fifty, he was at the peak of his rugged good looks. His straight brown hair was just showing a bit of grey, and his perpetual five o'clock shadow only highlighted the scar on his cheek that disappeared into the wrinkles around his squinty, brown eyes. First impressions made him out to be a bit of a rebel. His long coat, leather trousers, and the watch-fob perennially dangling from the pocket of his knitted waistcoat gave him the air of a cowboy. This would lead one to underestimate his intelligence and his sardonic wit.

More than half of the women in the office had a crush on him, and Hermione was honest enough to admit she was one of them. However, as his boss, he was off-limits, and so she struggled to try and keep him in his place.

He knew this and took perverse pleasure in making it difficult.

She sighed and turned toward the minister who was raising her hands to begin.

"Let us bow our heads…"

:

"I tell you it's more than passing strange," Alonso said again, lifting his pint to his mouth before he continued. "Three in a year? Our section only has seventeen people total, it defies statistics."

There were murmurs of agreement around the common room of The Tweed Dragon. It was a regular hangout for Ministry workers, and a logical place for Hermione to suggest when her people had seemed reluctant to disperse after the service.

"You think it's some sort of curse?" asked Keith Remor, her office manager.

"Could be," Zara Hornsby.

"I hope not, because so far only field agents have died," put in Erina. "I have better things to do than worry if I'm the next one."

"Don't be stupid," said Ruben Jordan, another field agent. "Who the hell would want to curse us? We don't do anything worth noticing. We're the least noticed section in the Ministry."

That last was met with mixed reactions and Hermione sipped her Gillywater and let them argue the point. There was a jingle of coin-filled pocket to her left and she turned her head to see Caleb sliding into the booth next to her with his pint. She smelled his spicy scent and shook her head.

"Do you think there is anything to their talk?" she asked gesturing at her employees with her glass.

He narrowed his eyes at them, making the untanned lines around his eyes disappear. After a long moment, he shook his head. "No," he replied. "They're just trying to make sense of their loss, that's all. Ruben's on the right track. Nothing interesting has happened in our section in over four hundred years. We track ley lines, Granger. We're not interesting enough to draw the evil eye."

Hermione suppressed her reaction to his muted, Southern Welsh accent and pushed her glass away. "I supposed you're right." She sat back and cocked her head to look up at him. "So nothing interesting ever happens?"

"Not as far as work is concerned. Not in the seven years I've been with them. We take readings, we send in reports. You desk jockeys tidy them up and file them, and no one ever looks at them. The only things of interest around here are the people. They squabble, patch things up, marry, divorce, have babies, and—" he tipped his glass at the rest of his coworkers, "—die. Sometimes more often than we're comfortable with."

She nodded, seeing her small workforce as poignantly representative of life in general. And so it goes, she thought, taking a sip and setting her glass down. She turned her attention to the man next to her, ignoring the way her mind and body seemed to whisper their opinions of him.

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

He tilted his head toward her. "I've been hoping you would," he said in a soft voice that made her shiver.

"Stop that," she said. "I was wondering why you've turned down three promotions."

He smiled, showing off his gold tooth, and leaned back in the booth. Whatever had given him that scar had cost him the tooth as well. It had to have been something terrible if magic hadn't been able to fully heal it. He turned toward her, resting his arm along the back of the booth behind her shoulders. "You've been checking up on me. That's a good sign."

She felt herself color slightly. "I've been checking up on everyone in my section, Caleb. I will thank you to keep your libido in check."

He chuckled, a deep, rolling sound that did bad things to her in good ways. "I like the field work. I like being out in the open. I can't stand being cooped up behind a desk. I had enough of that when I worked in the Department of Mysteries."

"You did?" She was annoyed at how her voice reverted back to her 'foolish-little-girl' voice. She'd dubbed it that whenever her interest in a new topic had earned her the wrath of Professor Snape back in the day.

Caleb gave her a slow smile. "I did."

She frowned and reached for her glass again. "I suppose you can't tell me about it."

"_Au contraire_, since my section was closed down, I actually can."

"Really? Then tell me! What did you do there? And why was it closed down?"

He gave her a long look, his brown eyes dancing with barely concealed mirth. "I worked in the field of chronological research. That is, until a group of schoolchildren overran the place and destroyed all of our equipment."

Hermione choked on her sip and blushed furiously. She took the napkin he offered her with a laugh, and dabbed at her eyes and then the table.

"I'm so sorry," she said quietly. "I was one of those students."

He laughed again. "I know. That fact was hardly a mystery." He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, looking back over his shoulder at her. His fringe dropped into his eyes. "Don't you worry yourself, Granger. I was sick of the job anyway. One could even say you freed me." He lifted his drink and took a sip. "Once free, it was impossible to get me behind a desk again."

She sighed in relief and smiled. She felt better knowing he was out in the field because he was happy. There was something far too wild about Caleb to ever picture him behind a desk.

When she realized where her thoughts were going, she pushed her glass away for the final time. It was time to take her leave.

"Off already?" he asked. "I didn't get a chance to buy you a drink." His eyes sparked with promise.

"I'm afraid I must," she said as he stood up to let her out of the booth. "I've just enough time to get back to the office and finish one of your useless reports from behind my desk." She stood up to her full height, which only just made it past his shoulder.

He leaned in towards her and murmured. "You don't belong behind a desk, Granger. You belong on one."

She felt the conflicting reactions instantly. Her spine snapped straight as her legs turned to jelly. "Mr. Lloyt," she hissed. "You go too far." She lifted her nose in the air and turned her back on him.

As she wished the others good health and a quiet evening, she heard his quiet chuckle behind her.

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><p>Hermione sat with her feet up on the coffee table and swallowed a mouth full of pot noodles. It was Friday Night, and that meant dinner at Grimmauld Place with Harry and Ron. It was Ron's turn to make dinner, and that meant Pot Noodles.<p>

"It _is_ more than passing strange, as Alonso said, but I think Caleb made the most sense. There's nothing about our job that would make it a likely place for anything more than random bad luck."

"Who's Caleb?" asked Ron with his mouth full.

"One of my field agents," she replied without looking up.

"I dunno," said Harry with a wave of his fork. "It does seem suspicious on the face of it. I mean, you have a population of seventeen and three fatalities in eight months. Looking at it as an Auror, it makes my hair stand on end."

"Everything makes your hair stand on end," Ron replied.

Harry flicked his fork at Ron in dismissal. "Look at it this way, you had one guy die in his sleep from a heart attack before he was thirty, another fell off his broom when he rode a broom as part of his job, and a third Apparated home after a night at the pub and splinched his head off. What _doesn't_ look suspicious about that?"

Hermione blinked. "Well, when you say it like that…"

Ron shook his head. "Motive. What motive would anyone have for killing blokes that ride around taking readings of magical impulses along ley lines? I mean, who cares?"

She swung her head back to Harry with raised eyebrows.

He looked annoyed to have been foiled by logic. "Well, most often the motive is personal gain. Money, power…"

"How do you profit from a natural phenomenon?" Ron asked. "Is it possible to manipulate or change the magical energy grid?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. It would be like trying to control the air outside. The energy runs along the ley lines, but the magical residue is everywhere. We channel the energy for our personal use, but you can't dam it up like a river, or direct it off into another area. Only tap into it. "

Harry sat back against the couch cushions. "Well, I still say it's suspicious."

"We're Aurors," Ron said. "Everything ends up looking suspicious. The only way to keep from ending up like Moody is to know when to leave well enough alone. There's nothing we can do without some sort of tangible suspicion." He turned toward Hermione. "If you find us a something that looks even vaguely like evidence of wrong-doing, I'll let Harry play." He looked back at Harry and gave him a stern look. "Until then, we have three other cases to deal with. Stop looking for more."

Hermione smiled at the way Harry slumped down and sulked. Some things never changed.

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><p>After a weekend spent poking at the issue like a flap of skin on the roof of her mouth, Hermione walked into her office the next Monday and pulled the employee files for Fawkler Sparrow, Emerson Thackeray, and Rigley Pepperton.<p>

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><p>And we're off...<p>

Reviews are lovely, but I will be honest and tell you that real life is really a booger, and replies will be sketchy at best.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** Here he comes...

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><p>Hermione twisted the strap on her handbag between her fingers until it was close to snapping. She finally released her lip from between her teeth before she made it bleed and took a deep breath. With a last look to the heavens, hoping someone up there would keep her from making an arse of herself, she walked up the path to the door of the ivy-covered cottage and knocked.<p>

The door opened after a long pause, and a good-looking young man, only a few years older than herself, peered at her in confusion. "Yes?"

"Mr. Djule?"

The door opened wider and the dark-skinned face went from confused to suspicious. "I'm he."

"You don't remember me, but I'm Hermione Granger. I took over as Rigley's Chief Section Officer a few weeks before he passed away."

The expression went even flatter, if possible. "I remember you. I met you at the funeral. What do you want?"

She sucked in a deep breath and leapt. "I know this must seem impossibly rude, but I want to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind. I was new to the section when he died, and, well, I wanted to know more about him."

Andrew Djule's eyes widened, and she saw what looked suspiciously like a spark of hope. He pulled the door wide open. "Tea?"

:

Hermione looked about the cozy sitting room at all the framed photos. The active couple apparently had spent a lot of time out of doors. When she heard her host returning with the tea tray, she turned away from a shot of the two of them waving to a group of friends before leaping off of a cliff together.

"Was this in the Mediterranean?"

"Sicily," the young man replied. "Our last vacation together."

Hermione sighed and shook her head. "Mr. Djule, I am very sorry for your loss. I must have seemed so clumsy at the funeral when I met you. I'd only just joined Rigley's office and was completely out of my depth even before we were struck by his tragic loss."

He sat down on an elegant chair across from her. "Call me Andrew. Rig thought you were a little out of your element, but he said he thought you'd catch on." He poured the tea, and she took a moment to add a bit of sugar.

"Tell me about him," she said.

Andrew gave her a long, level stare and completely side-stepped her words. "Why are you here?"

Hermione tried not to show how guilty the question made her feel, but knew she had failed when he nodded to himself and sat back.

"We experienced another loss in our team," she said instead.

"Who?" he asked, his voice full of concern.

"Fawkler Sparrow."

"No! Oh, and he was such a love! How's Maire holding up?"

"Not well, I'm afraid."

Andrew leaned forward, his face full of an emotion Hermione couldn't identify. "How? How did he die?"

"An unfortunate Apparition accident."

Andrew sat back again, nodding to himself as he crossed one leg over the other and reached for his tea. "Bullshit," he said, just before he took a sip.

It was her turn to lean forward. "Why do you say that?"

"You know why, or you wouldn't be here," he said with confidence.

She felt lightheaded at his response. She'd combed through the files of the three men for a week and could find nothing to tie them together except the job. She had nothing but a nagging feeling and Harry's gut to go by. If you discounted the fraudulent thoughts that Voldemort put in his head, Harry's gut had only ever been wrong about Professor Snape.

"I have no proof," she whispered, irrationally afraid someone would overhear.

"You mean other than Rig's annual physical?" he replied in a voice just as low. He leaned forward again. "His last was only six months before he died. He didn't have anything wrong with his heart then. Look around, Miss Granger." He waved a hand at the pictures of the two men flying brooms at rallies, climbing mountains, and stalking a manticore. "He was an active man with a physically demanding job. He was twenty-nine. If his heart had been so bad that it just went in his sleep, surely it was bad enough to show something in an annual physical. Nothing showed up at all. He was 100%, and yet the post-mortem showed he had extensive tissue damage."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Heart damage could have been caused by Dark Magic. What did they say when you questioned their findings?"

"Nothing. I was treated like the grieving spouse, desperate to face anything but the truth, and gently told to get on with my life."

Hermione's face scrunched up. "Really? Which Auror did you talk to?"

Andrew sighed and slumped down in his chair. "None of them. There was nothing they could do if I couldn't persuade the Coroner, so I didn't bother."

Hermione set her teacup down. "Tell me about the night he died. Had he seemed off? Had he been complaining at all?"

Andrew's eyes grew moist. "I wasn't there when he died. My niece had turned nine that day, and there'd been a big family celebration. Rig said he wasn't feeling well and had left early. I stayed late catching up with my brothers, and when I came home… he was already gone. That was about two in the morning."

Andrew swiped at his eyes and Hermione stared down at her hands while he pulled himself together.

"As for seeming off, yes. Definitely. He'd been acting odd for almost three weeks before he died. He'd always enjoyed his job, out riding the ley lines on his broom while juggling his equipment. He would always tell me about the animals he'd seen or plants he'd taken cuttings of. He loved to tell me about the people he would chat up, or the Muggles that had almost seen him.

"One morning he left early to head up to Thornborough. He told me there had been a report of a burp the day before, and he was off to check it out. When he got home that night, I asked him about it." Andrew looked off into the distance, his eyes tracking his lost love about the room. "He had no idea what I was talking about. He told me he hadn't even gone to Thornborough. He grew quite surly when I pressed him about it. In the weeks that followed, he never bothered talking about his job anymore unless it was just office gossip. You know, the changes after you took over, and how odd he'd thought it that Philips would just up and decide to retire."

Hermione felt a cold chill creep over her, raising bumps on her skin. "And Thackeray? Did he ever think it was suspicious that he fell off his broom?"

"No, he didn't. In fact, _I didn't_, not until after Rig died. I mean, they fly so fast, and they have all of this equipment to handle at the same time…" Andrew lifted a hand and pointed to one of the pictures. It showed Rigley, Andrew and a third man celebrating a win at a broom rally. "That's Emerson there, with the black hair. It was a charity run put on by the Ministry." He looked back at Hermione. "Em won. He always won. _Every year_."

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><p>Hermione pushed the door closed after Harry and Ron had slipped into the small conference room. When they were seated, she thumped down two files on the table between them.<p>

"What's this?" Ron asked, grabbing a folder and hunching over it.

"Tangible suspicion," she said quietly. "This," she tapped a folder, "is Rigley Pepperton's annual physical for re-certification. And this," she tapped the other folder, "is the medical inquest after his death six months later." She pulled out a chair across from both of them and sat down, folding her hands on the table before them. "It's almost not the same man. He shows extensive internal decay, consistent with a diagnosis of Shunpike's Syndrome."

"I knew it!" Harry flashed a quick grin that was immediately wiped from his face. "So now the question becomes, who would keep one of your field agents under Imperio long enough to harm him and why?"

"And," Ron added in a grave voice, "why would—" He flipped to the back of the file he held. "—Healer Trang not catch it and order an investigation?"

"That's what I want you to find out," she said in a tight voice. "You need to go and talk to this man here." She pushed a slip of paper across the table. "Andrew Djule was Rigley Pepperton's life partner for ten years. He has more answers than I thought up questions for. Also, you need to track down my predecessor, Urban Philips. I suspect early retirement might not have been his idea. You'd better get him a physical. And then there's Alonso. He could do my job blindfolded, and yet turned it down. Whatever is going on, it was convenient for someone to have a section head that was nearly clueless about the work that goes on in it."

"Well, they screwed up there. They should have known you would throw yourself into it."

"Thank you, Ron. But I have to admit that I _have_ let reports be dealt with by others while I found my feet."

"Who?" Harry asked.

"Well, Alonso, for starters, and our admin assistant, Alsea Partridge." She sighed and dragged her hands through her hair. "My gut tells me they are both trust-worthy, if that means anything."

"We'll take that into consideration," said Harry. "We'll go and talk to this Mr. Djule and that Mr. Philips."

"Good," she said. "Find something, Harry. Someone's killing my field agents, and I want to know who."

"We will. You watch. We'll get to the bottom of it."

"It won't be easy." Ron shook his head as though he was settling down for a long read of the file he held. "We've no motive still."

Hermione leaned across to them. "You find out who you think did it, and I'll try and dig up a reason why."

"No," Harry cut in. "You have to back out now." She started to protest, but he held up his hand. "Hermione, three people are dead already, and it took far too long to see what was going on. Whoever it is they're subtle. If you start digging things up in your own corner of the world you'll tip them off and make yourself a target. I need you to leave this to us. I promise, we won't keep secrets. If there's to be any digging through your old records, let us do it. Alright?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"Don't pout," Ron snapped. "He's right, and you know it."

She huffed out a breath and pushed away from the table. "Fine," she snapped, standing up. "I'll just toddle off then, shall I?"

Harry and Ron exchanged a look, but she just rolled her eyes and headed toward the door.

:

Hermione pulled another file out of the cabinet and added it to the stack. She lifted all three files she'd gathered onto her hip and headed off to find a place she could read them. She came around yet another long filing cabinet and stopped in her tracks.

"Professor Snape! This is a surprise. What are you doing here?" She hadn't seen him since the Ministry gala celebrating the reopening of Hogwarts three years ago.

The man sitting at the reading table looked up from the parchment, and his face soured into a frown. "I was trying to read."

She thumped her files down on the table across from him and pulled out a chair. "But don't you have classes?"

"It is Tuesday, Miss Granger. I have a free period between noon and two pm. I'm always here at this time to do research."

Hermione sorted the stack of monthly reports by date. "What are you researching?" she asked politely.

"Potions regulations."

"Oh? Are you teaching potions again? I'd heard you'd taken Defense back up."

He sighed and curled his lip. "I _am_ the Defense Against the Dark Arts master. However, one can hardly dabble in the Dark Arts in their free time, can they? Hence, my continued interest in Potions. Now, if you don't mind?"

She pursed her lips. "Just making friendly conversation," she muttered.

"Don't."

"Right."

She opened the first file, a random one from forty years ago, and started combing over reports hoping to get an idea of what a normal year's ether fluctuations looked like before she went looking for anomalies.

She knew there was no way to harness the power of the ley lines, but Andrew had mentioned a burp in Thornborough. A burp was what they called a sudden power outage. Magical folk in the area of a burp would experience a loss of magic for a limited time. No one knew what caused them, and there were conflicting theories as to how often they occurred. It was a bit like the old 'tree in the forest' question. If magic suddenly failed, and no one was around to notice, how did one count it as a statistic? Twenty minutes, and ten reports later, she had a very rough average to work with. Burps were reported 4.06 times a year, on average.

It only took her ten minutes to see that only three burps had been reported in the last two years combined.

She pulled out her wand and aimed it at the report from the month just before Ridgey Pepperton had died. "_Detego_." The report didn't change. "_Ostendo_." Nothing. "_Aperio_." She sat back and sighed.

"Granger, what the devil are you doing?"

She looked up through a tangle of curls at Snape who was staring at her as if he'd caught her picking her nose. "I have reason to believe this report has been tampered with," she said.

He cocked his head to the side. "Finally found a conspiracy, Granger?" he drawled. "You've been here for three years, what took you so long? I supposed you've already run off to Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumbfoundedly Stupid for help."

Her face flushed with guilt.

Snape's dark eyes sparked with delight. "Pathetic."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Oh, do shut up, Snape. I'm not one of your students anymore, and I don't give a damn what you think of me or my friends. You stopped scaring me when I visited you in St. Mungo's. Intimidation evaporated at some point after you slapped me on the arse, called me Gertie, and told me I had lovely tits."

She smiled devilishly as what little blood he seemed to have drained from his face. "_You lie!_" he hissed.

"You only wish I was lying." He looked close to having a fit, so she took mercy on him. "Oh, don't worry, Professor. You were high as a kite on pain medication and, no, I never told a soul." She giggled, adding, "I also never went back to visit you again."

His eyebrows snapped down, but she went back to her work, feeling more than a little smug. She tried two more spells that came to mind and gave up. Either the documents hadn't been altered, or she didn't have the right spells.

The parchment jerked out of her hand as Snape stabbed it with his wand and pinned it to the table. "_Primum __Revertatur,_" he hissed.

The parchment flared white and the ink began to rearrange itself.

"Thank you," she said distractedly, already reading the report. She felt her hair stand on end and grabbed the stack of reports, spreading them out on the table. "You take those, and I'll take these." She started poking at the monthly reports for the last two years and repeating his spell. She felt his eyes burning into her for a long moment before he reluctantly joined in. Within moments, she was reading through the rest of them while Snape stared at her expectantly.

She sat back with an explosion of breath. There had been ten burps the previous year, and seven so far this year. It was only the end of May.

"Well," he snapped. "What have you dragged me into?" He picked up one of the reports and started scanning it. "McGonagall told me you were a toadie in the Budget Office. What did you find? Embezzling?"

She started stacking the reports together. "I _was_ a toadie in the Department of Work and Pensions, which was part of the Budget Office. However, then I was made Chief Section Officer of the Department of Magical Measurement and Assessment a few months ago. We're part of the Office of International Statistics and Analysis, which is overseen by the Office of International Magical Cooperation."

Snape recoiled. "You're already a Section Head? What are you, twenty?"

"I'll be twenty-three this year, and don't change your preexisting opinions of me too quickly..." She dragged her hair out of her face. "I was silly enough to actually believe they thought me capable, but it would seem they really wanted someone naive and easily distracted."

He tilted his head to the side. "Who is 'they'?"

She leaned forward and lowered her voice. "I don't know. Nevertheless, whoever it is, they've killed three of my field agents already. Yes, Professor, I've found myself quite the little conspiracy, and, yes, I have involved the two Aurors that I happen to trust the most."

He raised his eyebrows. "And you trust me enough to tell?"

She lifted the stack of reports, keeping those from the last two years separate, and stood up. "Of course I do. You're _you_." She ended their conversation when she heard the sound of footsteps approaching. His face reflected utter confusion, and she smirked as she turned away, arms full of files.

She collided with a burly man in an Auror's uniform and bounced off of him, scattering parchment everywhere.

"I'm so sorry!" he shouted, grabbing her arm to steady her.

"Damn it!" she yelled, seeing forty years of reports sprawled all over the floor.

"Let me help you!" He crouched down with her, and they began gathering the parchment into a stack. "That was terribly clumsy of me. I wasn't watching where I was going."

"Neither was I." She took a stack from him and added it to her own. "Thank you, Mr…"

"Urquhart. Quint Urquhart. And you're Hermione Granger."

She grimaced.

"I've seen you when you come to visit Harry and Ron." She pursed her lips and gave him a long look. "Okay," he admitted, "I also know you from the papers." He gave her a smile, showing off his very straight, white teeth. "You probably don't remember me. I graduated four years ahead of you."

They managed to pick up the last of the reports and stood up. He flicked his dark blonde curls out of his eyes. "I'm very sorry," he repeated, handing her the reports he was holding.

"It's fine," she said. "Really."

"Perhaps you'd let me make it up to you? How about lunch tomorrow?"

Hermione blinked rapidly. "Um… I don't—"

"Perhaps just coffee?" His grey eyes held hers and the little boy hope in them made her cave in.

"Coffee sounds lovely, but it will have to be next week, I'm really busy this week."

He smiled again. "It's a date. Now, I need to get those reports for Keitch before he has my guts for garters. I'll see you around?"

"I'm sure," she said as he headed off toward the filing cabinets designated for the MLE.

She blew out a breath and turned back toward the table where Snape was still sitting. She dropped the reports on the table and started sorting them by year.

"You're not buying that are you?"

She looked over at him. "What are you on about?"

"Urquhart. He was looking right at you when he ran you down."

"Was he?"

Snape just rolled his eyes and went back to his notes.

"So which potion are you researching?" she asked.

"Pensieve Solution," he replied.

"Oh? What are you doing with it?"

"Trying to improve tactile sensation," he replied.

Hermione frowned. "Why?"

He sighed and looked up at her with a pained expression. "Why _not?_"

She blinked and then gave him a small smile. "Indeed."

She finished organizing her papers and bade Professor Snape a good day. It took her a while to file what she didn't need back where it belonged, but soon enough she was headed toward the door of the reading room with her altered reports from the last two years under her arm. She'd taken the precaution of replacing them with innocuous copies so no one would notice they were missing.

The door opened before she reached it, and Caleb Lloyt sauntered through. Caleb always sauntered. "There you are," he said when he saw her. "What have you got there?"

"Departmental budget reports," she lied. "I'm best with budgets. Were you looking for me?"

His mouth spread into a wide smile that rose higher on the right side. "For years."

She sniffed and lifted her chin. "Don't go there, Mr. Lloyt. What is it you want?"

He gave her a slightly apologetic smile. "I got a memo stating we needed to turn in our reports to you directly. I got tired of waiting to give you my report. Alsea said you were down here.

"Oh! Oh, yes! I'm sorry. I hadn't realized." She caught herself apologizing, and tried to look firm. "But you were supposed to schedule with Alonso."

"You know I hate schedules." He stepped back, leaning against the door and leaving barely enough room for her to get through. She hesitated.

"Do you _mind?_" came an irritated voice behind her. "Some of us have places to be."

Caleb's face slid into an unreadable mask. "Mr. Snape."

Hermione looked behind her and saw that Snape's expression was blank as well. "Mr. Lloyt."

Caleb stepped out of the way and Hermione scuttled through the door with Snape on her heels. "It was lovely to see you again, Professor," she said to him. "I hope to see you again, soon."

He stared at her, his eyes sliding to Caleb and back to the stack of files in her hands, before stabbing into hers. "It has been interesting, Miss Granger." He whirled away and stalked off down the corridor with his cloak snapping at the air in his wake.

"Don't tell me you're chummy with him?" Caleb asked as he fell into step with her.

"Snape? We were just catching up. I hadn't seen him in a few years."

"You'd be better off steering clear of that one."

"Why? He's a hero."

"Is he?"

Hermione stopped and looked at Caleb. "Yes. He is."

Caleb spread his hand up and out in mock surrender. "I'll admit he did a few good deeds during the war, but I know him. Those deeds he did _before_ he switched sides were more in keeping with his character."

Hermione frowned and started walking again. "How do you know him?"

"I've known Snape for ages. I was a few years ahead of him in school. Time doesn't change a man's nature that much, Granger. Peel those stars away from your eyes. He was always a secretive, dark, little bugger, and he's only grown worse."

"I bet you just think that because he was a Slytherin."

Caleb laughed, a rich, throaty sound that still did maddening things to her small hairs, even when she was annoyed at him. "No. I think that because he was so quick to fall in with Malfoy and his cronies. I was a Slytherin as well, Granger. Didn't you see our Secret Slytherin Handshake back there?"

Hermione looked off to where Snape had disappeared through a door and shook her head.

* * *

><p>*insert cackle here*<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

**AN:** Just a quickie today... Thank you to all my reviewers I haven't had a chance to thank personally, and thank you to **Hebe GB** for keeping this on the straight and narrow-esque.

* * *

><p>Hermione pushed open the door to Grimmauld place and gave a shout. When she heard Ron's answering shout from the sitting room, she dropped her cloak on a peg and headed that way. It was a Friday night again, and this time it was Hermione's turn to cook. That meant take-away curry every time.<p>

"Gods, I'm starving," Ron said, spreading the plates out on the coffee table.

"Me too," she replied, dropping a kiss on his head as she placed the bag of food on the table. She turned and gave Harry a one armed hug. "So what have we got?"

Harry dumped his handful of silverware on the table and began tearing open the bag. "Fuck all, is what we've got. We're getting nowhere."

She sighed and slumped onto the couch. "Harry, it's been two weeks!"

"Leave off," Ron said. "We know how long it's been, but you can't get blood from a turnip. Everywhere we look we run into a dead end. Yes, Philips showed signs of having been Imperioused, but we have no idea by whom. He's now a miserable turnip farmer in Devon. Alonso Bahari and his wife have been actively planning their move to India for three years now. His turning down the position checks out. Your girl Alsea is as clean as a whistle, as is everyone else in your department."

"Even Caleb?"

"He checks out clean as well," Harry said.

"Oh, good." She took the plate Harry handed her. "I was worried about him. I was sure Snape was warning me about him when they met."

"Nope." Ron said. "He's just your average bloke from what we can tell."

Hermione snorted. "There is nothing average about Caleb."

Ron looked up from where he was shoveling food into his gob. "You can't be serious. He's _old!_"

She closed her eyes to avoid seeing half-chewed chicken tikka. "I can't be serious because he works for me. Age has nothing to do with it. He's a complete dish."

"But what about Quint?"

She narrowed her eyes. "How do you know about Quint?"

Ron turned red to the roots of his hair.

"It's a little hard not to know about Quint," Harry said. "He came to us for advice after he spilled coffee on you Monday."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "He's a menace."

"He fancies you," said Ron. "You make him nervous, is all."

"What kind of advice did you give him?"

"I told him to read something," said Ron.

"I told him not to try so hard," said Harry.

Hermione nearly choked on her food. She reached for her glass of wine and took a big gulp. "I thank you both, but I don't know if there is any hope for poor Quint. He's very… earnest."

She picked up her fork again and stirred her food. "Now, getting back to my murder investigation… Alonso and I are heading to a conference in Myanmar next week as part of the British Delegation. I'm going to talk to my counterparts and see if they have any reports of an increase in burps."

"_Ugh_," Ron blurted. "Can't you come up with a more technical term for it? That sounds so crude."

"Says the man with food in his mouth," she replied.

"I can't say as I like it," Harry put in, ignoring that last exchange. "But the truth is, we have nothing, and if your field agents have been killed to keep these _events_ from being noticed—"

"There! That's a good one! _Events._"

"—then perhaps making the knowledge public will cause him to make a mistake."

Hermione glared at Ron before turning to Harry. "I need to do it, Harry. I'm tired of being afraid. I'm tired of staring at a foe glass every time one of my people comes into my office. And I'm sick with worry that another will be killed before we can stop it. If going public with the information will put an end to it, then I need to do just that." She took another sip. "Aside from that, this is also my job. We monitor the ley lines. If they start acting weird, we have treaties that impel us to report it to our fellow treaty members."

"Well, perhaps you have your answer right there," Ron said. "If there had been _events_ in other countries, wouldn't they have told you?"

Hermione shook her head. "Not until an International Magical Cooperation conference. That's what they're for."

Ron sat back on the couch and lifted his glass of wine as he finished chewing. "So whoever is behind this knew they only had a short amount of time to keep it secret. What were they hoping to accomplish?"

"A head start?" Harry said.

Ron nodded. "Makes sense."

"But on what?" Hermione blurted with frustration.

"I dunno," Ron said. "I'm afraid that's what you're going to have to find out at the conference."

Harry set his fork down. "I'd feel better if there was someone watching over you. We don't know what we're dealing with. I think it would look suspicious if Ron or I went…"

Hermione caught a tone in his voice she didn't like. "Don't you _dare_…"

* * *

><p>"Leave it! I can carry it!"<p>

"It's heavy! Let me!"

Hermione zapped her bag with a Levitation charm and narrowed her eyes at Quint Urquhart. She snatched it up and took off after Alonso as he threaded his way through the Portkey Terminal in Yangon. She did her best to ignore her _de facto_ bodyguard as she took in the sights. He'd turned up like a bad penny in the Portkey Office when she and Alonso were meeting up with the other delegates, smiling with his too perfect teeth and flicking his blond curls out off his brow. She'd thought she'd have to do some fast explaining, but he'd showed her a document signed by Kingsley Shacklebolt naming him as a fact-finding delegate. He'd been glued to her side ever since.

She would _kill_ Harry when she got back home.

:

"And over there is the Chinese Delegate. Madam Zhou has done a great deal of research on the lines and is very highly respected." Alonso waved his hand toward another group entering the auditorium. "And those would be the Bulgarian contingent. You'll want to watch what you say to Chilikov, he's a prickly bastard. Oh, here comes one of them now. He's smiling. How peculiar."

She turned her head in time to see Viktor Krum peel away from the group and come hustling over toward her.

"Herm-oh-ninny!"

"Viktor! I didn't know you would be here!"

He gave her a quick hug that squashed all the air out of her lungs. "I saw your name on the manifest yesterday and I vas very happy. Section Head, no? You are very smart. I always said this, yes?"

She wrinkled her face, her ego had been severely punctured when she realized she'd been given the job because she _wasn't_ qualified. Harry and Ron had made no headway on that either. No one knew who had put her name in, but Kingsley hadn't questioned it, assuming she was still the wunderkind she'd been in school.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, dodging the subject of her early promotion.

"I am Junior Advisor to Paisi, in Games and Sports. I stuck close by Chilikov, he is your… What is the vord? Your equal?"

"Counterpart?"

"Da. I knew if I followed him, I vould find you."

She laughed. "And I'm glad you did."

He grinned. "Me too. However, I must run now. I haff business, as you do. I vill see you at the dinner tonight, and we vill talk, yes? And perhaps share another dance?"

"Da," she said with a smile. She gave him another quick hug, and he headed back to his people.

She turned with a grin still plastered to her face and saw Quint staring hard at Viktor's back. It was an assessing gaze more than anything else. When he caught her watching, he gave her a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

:

Several hours later Hermione left the Welcoming Meeting with a blinding headache. There were forty-three countries at the conference and it seemed that each and every one of them had taken forever to say how happy they were to be there. Sonorous Charms and Translation Spells were a deadly combination.

"Al," she tugged at her coworkers sleeve as they made their way through the lobby of their hotel trailing the rest of the British Ministry officials. "Can I talk to you a minute?"

He looked at her with tired eyes. "If you speak quietly," he said with a droll laugh.

"I promise," she replied with an understanding smile. They made their way over towards the pub off the lobby and found a quiet corner. She dismissed Quint with a glare but he only went as far as the doorway.

Alonso looked from the Auror to her and back again. "Hermione, what's going on?"

She waited until they had ordered their drinks before putting up a Muffliato. "Al, you aren't going to want to hear this." He waved a hand at her to continue. "I have reason to believe that Fawkler, Rigley and Emerson were all murdered to cover up the fact that there has been a shocking increase in the number of burps in the lines over the last two years."

She waited until their wine arrived before reaching out and clasping his hand. He'd turned a shocking shade of sickly grey.

"No… Oh, by the Gods. _No._ That can't be true."

Hermione pushed his glass towards him. "I don't exactly know what the truth is. All I know is nearly every report for the last two years has been tampered with, and I have three field agents that all died for no logical reason. Philips was Imperioed into retiring early. Rigley was Imperioed for so long it destroyed most of his internal organs. If it hadn't been his heart it would have been his lungs next. Maire Sparrow swears by all that's holy there was no way Fawkler was too drunk to Apparate home, and Emerson Thackeray won several Broom rallies, so him falling off his broom should have raised more flags than it did." She snorted and shook her head. "I know that my being promoted into this department was a deliberate attempt to put someone inept in charge. And I know that there is no way I am going to let any more of my people get hurt."

Alonso quaffed half his drink, fastidiously swiping at his moustache with his napkin. "But why?" he said, struggling with his emotions. "It doesn't make any bloody sense."

She raised her eyebrows and gave a little shake of her head. "I was hoping perhaps you might help me figure that out. I haven't got a clue."

He stared off, his eyes traveling around the pub until they settled on Quint, and he jerked his head at him. "So who's he then? I thought he was sweet on you, but now I'm not so sure."

"He _is_ sweet on me, but that's not why he's here. He's an Auror that Harry and Ron have saddled me with to keep an eye on me."

Alonso nodded and turned back to her. "Do you have any idea who could be responsible?"

She shook her head. "I can't figure out why anyone would even _want_ to fudge our data. It has to be someone close to our team if they were tampering with our reports."

Alonso gave her a long look. "How do you know it isn't me?"

Hermione frowned and looked down at her wine. "I already had you investigated. You were cleared of reasonable suspicion. If it _is _you, I am going to be seriously cheesed off."

He nodded his head. "You were wise to do that. I assure you, it's not me. Unfortunately, I agree it is someone close to home. It would have to be." He took another sip of wine. "The thing is, I'm damned if I can see who. I signed off on those reports. I didn't see anything wrong. I can't remember the last time a burp was even reported."

"They've been reported. But somehow the information is being filtered away before anyone who would understand what it meant could notice. Field agents would be the first to wonder why no one was following up on their findings. I suspect that the three of them all started to question it at some point and had to be silenced." She crossed her arms on the table in front of her and leaned closer. "What does an increase in burps mean? Why would someone try to hide that information?"

His gaze turned inward. "I don't know. I can't think of why anyone would even want to. Fluctuations happen for any number of causes, but I can't think of single reason worth killing for. Power drains are usually caused by something mundane. Localized interruptions can be caused by a brooding dragon or seismic activity. However, burps are little understood. Even with all our research, we don't know why a blank spot will start traveling along the line. We never know where they originated, but once reported, we _have_ managed to track a few. They can go more than halfway around the globe before they dissipate. In fact, Philips—" He looked up from where he had been watching his own fingers tapping on the table. "Philips had once toyed with the idea of creating an international task force to track them for further study. He wanted to see if there was a pattern."

"Why didn't he?"

Alonso gave her a hard look. "He suddenly lost interest in the idea."

"When?"

Alonso shrugged his shoulders. "A year ago? Maybe more. Around that time he started grumbling about the job, but only to me."

Hermione's cheeks puffed out as she blew out a long breath.

"And you have no ideas about what an increase in burps could signify? Theories? Folklore? Old wives tales?"

He gave a short, slightly hysterical laugh that jarred her nerves. "There's lots of old wives tales. Some say it presages a magical eruption, like a new magical grotto. Others have it that it means the birth of a new species, or a new magical artifact. A few more say it is a sign of a time rift, where you can move forward or backwards in time. Still others … well, it features in lots of crackpot end-of-the-world theories."

Hermione felt like she was finally close to an understanding. "Why _don't _we know what it means? I mean, there is so much phenomena out there that has been studied for hundreds of years. It seems implausible that something as mundane as a burp would be a complete mystery."

Alonso shrugged. "Perhaps because it _is _so mundane. We don't understand why we yawn either, but no one cares enough to throw time and effort into the question because there are so many more important things to spend our energy on." He finished his wine and leaned forward, capturing her hand. "Whoever is behind this, they made one mistake that just might come back to haunt them."

"What?"

"They underestimated you."

She blushed and gave him a smile, but he shook her hand firmly. "That wasn't a compliment, girl. That was a warning. Someone who has already murdered three times to cover up these events will think nothing of killing you if you ask too many questions." He nodded toward Quint. "Keep that man close to you. Let me ask the questions at dinner tonight. You concentrate on looking overwhelmed and confused."

Hermione's gut churned. "_That_ won't be difficult. But who are you going to ask?"

He sat back, letting go of her. "Zhou for starters. She knows more about the ley lines than anyone living. Then there's Abraão from Brazil. He might have a few things to say on the subject. I'll ask my old friend Abel Osterhoudt as well. I've known him for forty years. He's working with the Bulgarians these days, but he worked for us for years. He's a walking encyclopedia of odd facts. I'll feel them out and let you know if any of them have any useful opinions on the subject. You just lay low, as they say."

"I won't be laying low for long" she said. "I'm planning on introducing our corrected findings at the Measurement committee meeting tomorrow. Our job is to share our discoveries. Not doing so would be a violation of our treaties. I'm hoping our counterparts have similar findings to share. The quicker we tear the lid off this…whatever it is, the safer our people will be."

Alonso nodded. "Don't tell anyone that fact tonight. Let's throw it out there when no one can stop us." The two of them stood up, cancelling out the Muffliato. "Remember," he said, leaning in close. "Tonight, you're just in over your head. Tomorrow, you show them who you really are."

Hermione nodded and the two of them left the pub to get ready for the formal dinner. Quint trailed after her like an attention-starved puppy.

A Rottweiler puppy, to be sure.

* * *

><p>:<p>

Curiouser and curiouser...


	4. Chapter 4

**AN:** Thank Hebe that this is a better chapter than it was.

* * *

><p>"May I haff this dance?"<p>

Hermione looked up at Viktor, who looked charming in his formal robes, and smiled gratefully. "Absolutely."

He led her out onto the dance floor and turned her into a spin. "You look completely overvelmed," he said.

"Is it that obvious?"

"To me. I haff not seen you looking this vay before. It is a lot of names and faces, no?"

"It is. It's driving me a little crazy trying to keep track of them all. And they're all so incredibly smart. It's very intimidating."

"They should be intimidated by _you_. You are very, _very_ smart."

He whirled her around again, and she laughed. "I think you might be overestimating my abilities."

"Nonsense." He smiled, looking down his long nose at her. "How haff you been? It is a long time since I heard from you last."

"I've been pretty busy with the new promotion. It's a little like being thrown in at the deep end."

Viktor frowned. "I don't haff happy memories of you in deep vater."

She winced, remembering how Viktor had freed her from the lake during the Tri-wizard Tournament. "No, I daresay you don't. But that imagery is also apt."

He tilted his head to the side. "Vut's wrong?"

She closed her eyes, unable to lie to him and unable to tell the truth. "I'll tell you tomorrow. I just want to get through tonight."

"Okay. This, I understand."

"Tell me about you? What have you been up to since you left sports?"

He smiled. "My cousin Ivan got me a job at the Ministry. I verk vith the farm teams and keep statistics. I haff been doing this for two years now. I am too good though. They vant to give me a desk. This would be unbearable."

She laughed, easily picturing Viktor with a few more decades under his belt sauntering around like Caleb. "Just keep turning them down."

"I am." He nodded over her shoulder and then spun her around to face whatever it was. "Who is this man that keeps staring at you?"

"Quintius Urquhart. He's attached to my group. He's on a fact-finding trip."

"Vell, if the facts pertain to you, he is very diligent in his verk. He is staring holes in my head. I think he is jealous."

Hermione laughed. "Perhaps. He does have his hopes."

"Does he haff hope?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Not really."

"Does anyvun?"

She smiled and hugged his shoulder where her arm rested. "I wish I had the time, but I don't, to be honest. I keep hoping life will slow down enough for me to have a life, but I've been wishing that for more years than I haven't."

"This I understand. You vere made for great things, Herm-oh-ninny. Life will not let up until you accomplish it."

She sighed, suddenly feeling even more overwhelmed. "That's what I'm afraid of."

"Yes, and this is vy vee dance."

She laughed the whole way across the floor as he whirled her around and around.

:

Hermione left the reception early to work on her speech for the next day's conference. It was one in the morning, local time, when she crawled into bed and passed out.

It was four in the morning when she was jolted awake by a hand on her mouth. She immediately reached for the wand under her pillow, but another hand clamped down on her wrist.

"Granger—_hurk!_"

That's as far as the intruder got before she punched him in the throat. She folded herself in half and with both feet planted on his chest kicked him off of her. He flew backwards but didn't let go of her wrist so she was dragged up out of the bed and down onto the floor. She grabbed at the clock on the way and smashed it into his head. He still didn't let go, but he did start cursing up a storm.

"Fuck, woman! Stop, God _damn_ it!" She elbowed him in the solar plexus and his curses turned inarticulate. His grip on her wrist slackened, and she scrambled up and ran for the door. She only made it two steps before he got a hold of her ankle, and she went down again. Her breath rushed out of her with a whoosh as he threw himself across her and pinned her to the floor. "Granger," he said in a rasp. "I'm not trying to hurt you!"

"Then who the hell are you!" she wheezed.

He struggled above her and croaked, "Lumos!"

She stared up at Quint, wondering how it was possible for shoulders to have so many muscles. Blood poured from a gash on his forehead. "What the hell are you doing, coming into my rooms half naked!" she snapped, ready to slap him if she didn't like his answer.

"I came to see if you were safe. I was just woken up by security. Behari is dead."

She went utterly limp. "_What?_" Her voice sounded small to her own ears.

Quint rolled off of her and pulled her up into a sitting position. She tugged her silk nightshirt down as far as it would go, which suddenly seemed nowhere near far enough.

"Alonso? What do you mean? Dead? How?"

"He was found floating in the pool fifteen minutes ago. They think it was an accidental drowning, but Weasley and Potter said all the deaths so far had looked like accidents."

Hermione struggled to make sense of his words as the adrenaline coursed through her veins. Her mind bounced from thought to thought with no rhyme or reason. Trivial things loomed large while major things like what she should do next completely escaped her. "Oh, gods," she whispered. "I have to call Sarita, his wife."

"You can do that later. I think it would be more productive right now to know who you saw him talking to tonight."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You heard our conversation in the pub."

Quint nodded. "Limited-Focus Piercing Spell let me siphon sound from inside your Muffliato."

She eyed him as she got up off the floor and grabbed her dressing gown. "You were a plant from the start, weren't you? Snape said you'd knocked into me on purpose."

He grimaced and stood up as well, gingerly stretching his arms. "Potter knew you wouldn't stop trying to investigate on your own. They were worried. I was supposed to become friendly and keep an eye on you."

Her lip curled as she pulled her wand out from under her pillow. "By pretending you liked me? Why _you_?"

He had the good sense to look uncomfortable. "Ron said I looked a bit like Lockhart."

"Oh, good gods…"

He flinched when she aimed her wand at him, but relaxed as she healed the cut on his head.

"So you were never interested in me at all, were you?"

He looked at his feet. "Not until a minute ago. I admit I'm a sucker for a woman that can kick my arse while wearing silk."

"What about one that can turn you into a paperweight," she said aiming her wand at him again.

"That's not nearly as attractive, no."

"Why the hell didn't you wake me up like a normal person?"

"Sorry. That was habit. My ex-girlfriend was in the Battle of Hogwarts. If you shook her shoulder, kissed her cheek, it didn't matter; she'd always wake up screaming. I learned to cover her mouth before I shook her so the neighbors would stop thinking I was trying to kill her."

Hermione shook her head, her thoughts finally slipping into gear. "Enough of this nonsense. Where's Alonso now?"

"They've taken him away to the hospital. _Do_ you know who he spoke with tonight? Because it certainly looks like our killer is here. We need to figure out if he came with us or was here when we arrived."

Hermione nodded. "Not everyone, but I know who he intended to speak with." She tightened the sash around her waist and then looked at him again. Wearing nothing but a pair of loose pants, he seemed ridiculously well-built. "Why did security come and get you and not me?"

Again, he seemed to look sheepish. "They _were_ coming to get you. I was sleeping on the floor across the doorway."

"You were—What on earth for? That's a bit extreme."

"Weasley told me if you got so much as a paper cut he'd have my bollocks for clackers."

Hermione pinned him with a stare as she slowly lifted her elbow to show him the rug burn that had taken off several layers of skin. "Keep me alive until I give my findings to the conference tomorrow, and I won't tell him you gave me this."

Quint blanched.

:

Hermione approached the podium feeling like she was walking underwater. Quint walked next to her the whole way. He had given up all pretense of being anything but her bodyguard, drawing confused looks from those delegates that had approached her to express their condolences all morning.

After the adrenaline had run its course, there was nothing left but the grief. Alonso had been so close to his dream of returning with his wife to the village she'd grown up in, but had postponed his retirement to help train Hermione.

She had sworn no more of her people would be hurt and had failed. So she'd locked herself in her room and prepared for this moment, while Quint had rushed off to send a message to Harry for her.

It really wasn't a dramatic speech. In fact, it was quite boring. It occurred to her suddenly that she really didn't give a rat's arse about ley lines. She hated her job with a passion. Caleb had been right. It wasn't the job, it was the people. Remove her people, and she saw the job for what it was—tedious and banal.

She looked at Quint, but he wasn't looking at her, he was trying to look at the entire room at once. Holding her wand to her throat, she whispered a Sonorous Charm. There was a murmur of cloth around the room as the other delegates dutifully applied their Translation Spells.

"Good afternoon, Ladies and Gentlemen. For those I didn't get a chance to greet last night, I am Hermione Granger, Delegate from Great Britain.

"I would like to thank you, on behalf of the family of Alonso Behari and my Government for your kind words and condolences on his tragic death." The words stuck in her throat. She and Quint had agreed that it was best to follow the official line in public. "I know many of you have known Alonso for years and are as aggrieved by this heartbreaking loss as we are."

She took a deep breath. "As for the business at hand—" She looked over at the woman running the slide-projector and nodded. "You will see from our chart that the last two years have shown a tremendous increase in energy voids, known as burps, running along the ley lines of Great Britain…"

:

Hermione sat on a low couch in an anteroom of the conference center and sipped soda water. Viktor and Quint stood behind her like an honor guard.

It was done. Her part was over. Normally, her job would entail staying for the rest of the conference and listening to everyone else's presentations, but she had changed her plans. She would be escorting Alonso's body home to his wife that evening. Undersecretary Pathfounder, the Chief Delegate for Great Britain, and the head of the Department of Magical Cooperation, had given someone else the duty of taking notes and compiling a report on whatever else was discussed at the conference. They would have the power to vote as well, and Hermione found she couldn't be arsed enough to care if they voted themselves out of the treaty.

All that was left to deal with was the Heads of Department that had requested a meeting. There were so many of them, she was down to limiting them to fifteen minutes. The first had been Chilikov from Bulgaria. He had taken two minutes to express his sadness, and seven minutes to tell her how under-qualified she was for the job compared to Alonso. He'd used the rest of his time to fully agree with the plan she'd presented to organize a multi-national committee to track the events, as she'd started calling them in her head. She'd put forth a version of Philips' idea almost defiantly at the end of her speech. She'd credited her predecessor but her faith in the plan came from Alonso's belief in it.

Viktor had entered with Chilikov, and let him leave without him, preferring to stay by her side. This made things a bit difficult, since Viktor still didn't know the whole story.

The door opened and the Brazilian delegate came in. He was of average height and build, but projected an air of a man much larger. She rose. "Mr. Abraão, it is an honor."

"Likewise, young lady. Although a sadder one. I am much pained by the loss of my good friend."

"As am I."

"Such a strange thing to have an exciting conversation with a man before you go to sleep, and then to wake up and find you cannot ever continue it."

"I feel the exact same way," she avowed. "I depended on him far more than I could convey with words."

"Yes. He told me as much." They sat down, and he settled his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. "He asked me many questions last night, and I did not understand until your report why. An increase in these burps, as you call them in English, is significant. Sadly, I could not tell him any more than he already knew. We have stories, the same as you. The end of things, a beginning of something. It is obvious that something is happening, and so far it is happening only in your hemisphere. We have no reports of any increase in activity at all down in our corner of the world. I took the trouble to ask my colleagues in Argentina, Bolivia, Chile, and Peru. They were all surprised by your findings. However, Miguel Bak, the Delegate from Guatemala, was not. He said they had seen a fifteen percent increase over last two years."

He raised his dark, empty hands. "I am no help, but I would like to be. My people are willing to cooperate in your multinational venture. We do not know what this means, but it is obvious it meant something to my friend, and I would honor his memory by taking part."

"Thank you, Mr. Abraão. That means a lot to us. Your office will be hearing from mine soon." He stood up to take his leave, and she did as well. "May I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"What time did you speak with Alonso?"

The man's face fell, and he heaved a sigh. "It was after the reception had started to wind down. I would say midnight? About that? My sense of time is off. The shifting time zones play games with my head."

"I understand. One more question. How did he seem to you when you spoke with him?"

Abraão's eyes narrowed. "I thought he fell into the pool after too much drink."

"Did he seem drunk to you at midnight?"

Abraão shook his head. "No." He looked past her at the two men behind her and then back to her. "No. He didn't seem like he'd been drinking at all. He just seemed… worried."

"Do you know who he had been speaking with before you? After?"

"He had been speaking with Madam Zhou, the Chinese Delegate. I saw him speaking with Osterhoudt as I was heading off to find my bed. That is all I can tell you. As for Madam Zhou, I believe she is outside waiting to speak with you now."

Hermione gave him a tight smile. "Then I shouldn't keep her waiting. She is a busy woman, as you are a busy man. Again, I am honored to meet you."

"As am I, Miss Granger." He nodded, giving her a searching look and headed towards the door.

She blew out a breath and sat down.

"You were great," Quint said over her shoulder.

"Thank you," she replied.

"Hermione, what is going on?"

She turned to Viktor. "I can't explain everything yet. I'm sorry."

He nodded and reached forward to squeeze her shoulder. "I vill vait then."

The door opened again, and she rose to greet Madam Zhou.

The woman—still strikingly beautiful in her seventies —came in wearing a crisp set of robes and a palpable air of sadness. She nodded to the two men behind Hermione and then stretched out her hand. Hermione reached out to shake it, but the older woman took it in both of hers and patted it.

"I am very sorry for your loss," the woman said.

Hermione was immediately disarmed by her sincerity and had to struggle with her tears. "Thank you."

"I fear it is but the first of many," the woman said with a deep sadness in her voice.

Hermione pulled her hand back. "What do you mean?"

The woman backed away and turned to the couch behind her. "May I?"

"Of course! My apologies. Please."

They sat and the older woman gestured at Viktor and Quint. "You trust these men?"

Hermione tilted her head. "With my life."

"Even the Bulgarian?"

Hermione looked behind her to see Viktor's brows beetling. "Especially him."

Madam Zhou nodded. "This is good. You protect yourself. Alonso should have as well."

"You don't think he fell into the pool?" Hermione asked in a neutral voice.

"Do you?"

Hermione took several breaths before she answered. "I have reason to believe otherwise."

"Ah. Then the deaths _have_ already begun. It is the same in my country."

Hermione shook her head. "I don't understand as much as you may think I do."

Zhou shook her head slowly. "I do not understand as much as you need to, but I will share what I have. I will tell you what I told Alonso." The older woman sighed. "I danced with words last night, trying to get him to tell me what was on his mind. All he would say is, 'I will speak more tomorrow.' For him there was no tomorrow. I do not have the patience to dance with words with you. I understand Governments like their secrets. But you let the biggest secret out today, so let us speak plainly. We have also experienced an increase in _dagé_. It started two years ago. We did not become aware of it until nine months later, because there was a powerful witch who was tampering with our data."

Hermione straightened up. "Who? Did you catch them?"

"She has been dealt with. Our way is swift and permanent. We do not have your Azkaban. Sadly, she was but the first. There have been two more people who attempted to profit from this information for personal gain. The increase in _dagé_ always creates a frenzy that is proportional to their frequency."

"Why? What are they? Alonso was our fourth fatality. What is everyone after?"

Zhou spread her hands. "What does everyone dream of, Miss Granger? Wealth. Power. Immortality. A chance to dictate the future… or change the past. Now that you have let the truth out, there will be more of them. People crazed by a thousand lusts all wanting the same thing."

"What? What is it?"

Zhou looked her straight in the eye. "No one knows. An artifact. A portal. A chance to talk to the Creator. It could be any one of these things, or none of them."

Hermione wanted to collapse from her disappointment. Apparently, it showed on her face.

"The information has been eliminated, Miss Granger. Only remnants are kept and unless one knows where to look, one will never find them. My teacher before me spent her whole life searching for clues, and I continue her work. No one knows what is coming, but we know that what is coming has the power to either change the world… or end it."

"It's happened before," Hermione stated in a flat voice.

"Three times that we have found evidence for, and each time the records of it were destroyed. It is like throwing a stone into a still pool. All that remains are the ripples, and then eventually, only the memory of the ripples."

Hermione dragged at her hair, forgetting she was wearing it up. She grimaced. "So there is no way to find out what we are facing, but a handful of witches or wizards are willing to kill for it. This is madness."

"I fear the madness has only just begun," the other woman said. "We must form this committee you speak of. But it must be a committee of people dedicated to altruism. We must track these _dagé. _We must find out how to stop not only the madness, but possibly the end of all things. This much is known."

Hermione nodded her head. "Your office will be hearing from mine then."

"This makes me very happy. It has been a pleasure to speak with you, Miss Granger. I look forward to our continued cooperation."

Hermione stood up. "I look forward to asking you a million more questions."

Madam Zhou smiled. "That will be a great pleasure."

They shook hands and parted. When the door closed, Hermione turned and looked at the two men behind her. Viktor had a thoughtful expression, and Quint looked like he'd been punched in the gut.

"Hermione, vut haff you gotten yourself into now?"

She grimaced and shook her head. "Apparently the end of the world."

Quint shook himself like a dog coming out of the water. "That was a lot more than I was expecting," he said.

"Me too," Hermione added. "Look. No matter what happens, I need you two to help me make sure that this information gets back to Harry. Do you understand?"

Quint nodded immediately, but Viktor shook his head. "Vy Harry?"

She blinked. "Because… he's Harry. He's good at saving the world."

Viktor shook his head again. "Harry vas the chosen vun against Voldemort and his followers. He saved the world once already. No one ever gets to save it twice. I suspect there is a new chosen vun."

"Who?" she asked, stepping closer to him.

He looked at her with a sad expression. "You."

"Me? No. No way. That's not the way it works. _Harry_ saves the world. Ron and I just help figure out how he can do it."

Viktor shrugged. "Okay. Vee tell Harry. But I am thinking it is not Harry that vill matter this time."

The three of them turned as the door opened again. A tiny little wizard with with long silver hair, and dove-grey robes that nearly matched, came in leaning on a hawthorn cane. "Miss Granger?"

"Yes?"

"I was wondering if I might take up a moment of your time."

"Certainly, Mr.…?"

"Osterhoudt. Abel Osterhoudt. I was an old friend of Alonso Behari."

"Oh, yes. He spoke of you! I'd be honored to speak with—"

A thunderous explosion cut off Hermione's words and threw her violently to the floor. She felt a heavy weight land on her and then the world spun away.

* * *

><p>:<p>

Poor Alonso. I should probably stop making the people I plan to kill off so likable, but then no one would care, would they?


	5. Chapter 5

**AN:** I'm so glad so many of you are enjoying my little B Movie adventure! I am, as predicted, terribly behind on reviews. To make up for it, I am posting two chapters. The lovely Hebe had some extra time this weekend and you reap the benefit. I'm off to contemplate the existential ramifications of Spam Sushi.

* * *

><p>Hermione pushed at the body on top her, but the person clinging to her only held on tighter. She relaxed when she recognized the swirling pull of a Portkey.<p>

Just as her revolving brain seemed to slow down to the possibility of thought, she slammed into the ground, the man on top of her knocking the breath out of her again. This time, she heard a crack and felt a sharp, stabbing pain in her chest.

Quint rolled off of her with a groan as she heard the sound of a door bursting open and then feet running toward them. She sat up and looked around recognizing the back garden of Grimmauld Place.

"What the hell are we doing here?" she croaked through the pain.

"What the hell _happened_ to you?" she heard Ron yell as she was snatched up off the grass. She screamed, and he loosened his grip, guiding her back down gently.

"I think I cracked some ribs on the landing," she whispered. "I don't know. There was an explosion and then your hired gigolo here threw himself on top of me and ported us out of there. Is he okay?"

Harry had arrived still in his pajamas and was kneeling down by Quint. "Yeah. Just a concussion it looks like," he said, reading the results of his diagnostic charm. "Let's get the two of you to St. Mungo's."

"Wait! Viktor! And…" Another stab of pain took her breath away and she struggled to get it back. She couldn't. "Oster—" Her vision clouded with dark spots and then she slipped away.

* * *

><p>Hermione woke in the hospital to find Ron and Viktor talking quietly next to her bed. She took a tentative breath and felt a tightness in her chest but no pain. "Viktor. You're alright."<p>

He turned and smiled. "I vas not hurt. I vas too far avay."

"Mr. Osterhoudt?"

"He is fine. He vas thrown across the room, but he landed on the couch."

She closed her eyes for a moment. "How's Quint?"

"He's fine as well," said Ron. "He went back to Myanmar with Harry and a few others to try and sort things out."

Her mind seemed to clear out of a fog and she blurted, "Alonso!"

Ron took her hand and sat down. "He's home. His funeral was yesterday. You've been out for two days."

"_Two days?_ Oh, no! I have things to do! I have to get up!"

"Stop!" Ron snapped. "You're not going anywhere until tomorrow, so just get used to it. You had three broken ribs and a punctured lung."

She sagged back down onto her pillow, irrationally irritated. After years of wishing Ron would grow up, he'd done so with a vengeance and was now frequently on her nerves for being too responsible. She looked over at Viktor. "What happened in Yangon?"

His face grew thunderous. "Dark Magic," he spat. "Someone blew up half the conference center vith a series of time-delayed _Reductos_. Whoever it vas, they were very powerful spells, so we are dealing vith a very powerful enemy."

"We?"

Ron cleared his throat. "Krum's here as an official liaison of the Bulgarian Ministry. We've filled him in on what we know. Two other people showed up to help as well. An old guy named Osterhoudt, and a woman from China."

"Madam Zhou?"

"No," said Viktor. "I'm sorry, Hermione. She vas killed in the blast. Many people who vere at the conference are dead or missing. Most of them vere your counterparts, as you say. The blast vas centered on your conference room."

"Oh, gods. That means they went after nearly everyone that would know what to do!"

"Exactly."

"Abraão?"

"Gone."

Hermione closed her eyes again, wanting to slip back away into the darkness. Instead, she looked toward Ron. "Did you get Quint's message? The one I asked him to send?"

"Yeah. You were right. It was on your admin girl's desk. A tricky bit of magic, that. It looked like a stamp—you know, the kind with the date and time?—but it altered every document that went into her In basket to show a predetermined series of reports. It had to have been changed or recharmed weekly. She was questioned under Veritaserum. She had no idea. We also did what you asked and marched everyone in your department down to St. Mungo's for a physical and then had them questioned by Aurors. We ripped the lid off for sure. I oversaw the physical exams myself. All of your people showed signs of having been either Obliviated, Imperioused, or both. So did Healer Trang, the one who signed off on Pepperton's post-mortem. Several of your people were as close to organ failure as Mr. Pepperton. You saved a few lives there, eh?"

She blew out a breath. "Yeah, but we still have a whole planet to save. Did Harry hear what Madam Zhou told us?"

"Yeah," replied Ron. "Quint was babbling everything as soon as he woke up. Said you'd ordered him to tell us. Viktor filled in a few more bits and pieces when he showed up."

"Good. Harry will know what to do."

Ron gave her a strange look and shook his head.

"What?" she asked.

"He said pretty much the same thing about you. We've been waiting for you to wake up so _we_ would know what to do."

Hermione blinked and then looked at Viktor. He had the same, sad, knowing look on his face that he did just before the explosion.

"I don't know anything," she said in a small voice.

Ron squeezed her hand. "Yeah, but you're a dab hand and finding out where to look."

* * *

><p>Hermione walked through the doors to her offices and bit her lip. She felt even smaller than she had on her first day, when everyone was a stranger. Her assistant, Alsea, saw her and squeaked, drawing the attention of the others in the office.<p>

There was a long, silent staring competition and then Alsea's eyes filled with joy and she broke into a smile. "Oh, Miss Granger. Welcome back!"

Hermione blinked several times both in confusion and to clear away what felt suspiciously like tears. "Thank you, Alsea."

The others in the office joined in the welcome, many expressing gratitude for her timely intervention on their health. They crowded around her with smiles and tears, telling her about Alonso's funeral, and their shock at what had happened at the conference.

An arm came around her shoulders and squeezed her gently, and she looked up to see Caleb. "Glad you made it, Granger." She was taken aback by the gentle concern in his eyes. "We were told you wouldn't be back until Monday. Are you sure you're up for this?" he asked as he guided her through the group and toward her office door."

"I have to be," she said, letting him lead her. "It's just what you said that day in the pub. It's the people, not the job. Someone's been trying to hurt my people. I need to be here to keep you all safe."

Caleb nodded, and she left his embrace and walked around her desk. He took the chair in front of it as she sat.

"I can't say as I'm happy that someone's been messing around in my head and trying to fry my guts. I owe you one," he said, giving her a warm smile that made his brown eyes nearly disappear. "If you need any help, you just ask."

"Thank you. I'll do just that."

Alsea came in with a cup of tea and set it on her desk. "Can I get you anything else?"

"Thank you," Hermione said lifting the teacup. "I guess I'll start with the last week's reports. Also, I have an appointment at noon with a Mr. Osterhoudt. Show him in directly when he arrives. One more thing, I'll need Urban Philip's home address if we still have it on file."

Alsea left with a smile, and Caleb gave her a questioning look. "Why Philips? You're not thinking of leaving us are you? We only just got you back."

Hermione sighed. "I'm crippled without Alonso. If I can lure Philips back, in even a consulting capacity, I'll take him. If he wants the job back, it's his. Between our own losses and the deaths in Yangon, the world's running out of people who know how to do this job." She smiled. "You'd better get out of here, or I'll stick you behind a desk after all."

He threw up his hands in mock surrender and stood up. He turned in the doorway and looked back at her. "I really am glad you're alright, Granger. You do realize that if you resign I'll be relentless in my pursuit of at least dinner and one slow dance."

"Get out" she said with a laugh.

She was sipping her tea when she noticed something was missing from her desk. She looked up as Alsea came in with the reports she'd asked for. "What happened to the glass lens that was on my desk?"

Her assistant looked down and then around to the shelves behind her. "I don't know. I swear it was here… Come to think of it, I can't remember when I saw it last."

Hermione reached out and took the stack from her, murmuring her thanks. Her mind was trying to put together the implications. If the murderer had followed them to Myanmar, who had stolen her foe-glass off her desk while she was away?

:

Abel Osterhoudt walked into her office, leaning heavily on his cane. Hermione had to stop herself from flinching when she saw him, as if the walls would suddenly buckle again at his entrance.

"Mr. Osterhoudt. It's an honor to finally be able to talk. Come in, have a seat." The elderly wizard smiled at her and made his way to the chair. "Would you like some tea?"

"That would be lovely," he replied in a musical voice. His accent held its Dutch roots, but it was obvious he had spent a good deal of time in Great Britain.

She turned to Alsea, who was hovering in the doorway. "Some tea, if you would."

"Right away, Miss Granger."

"And some biscuits if there are any," Ron added as he appeared in the doorway. "Mind if I sit in?"

Hermione nodded. "Please." She gestured to the second seat against the wall and Ron grabbed it and dragged it closer. She noticed he was wearing his full Auror's uniform and his full Auror's attitude. His smile was pleasant, but Ron was in detective mode.

Introductions were made and then Hermione got down to business.

"Mr. Osterhoudt, what was it you wanted to speak with me about the other day?"

He shook his head sadly. "Such a day. What a terrible thing. I had come because of Alonso. He had asked me to speak with you about what I knew of the increase in burps."

"When?" Ron asked. "What time was this?"

Osterhoudt looked over at him and gave him a quizzical glance. "Around midnight, or sometime after that. We spoke until about one or two in the morning."

"Did you go to bed after that? Did you see him speaking with anyone else?"

"I stayed up. There were several people there I wanted to speak with. I was under the impression that Alonso was heading to bed."

"Mr. Osterhoudt," Hermione cut in. "What did you and Alonso speak about?"

He looked back at Hermione and gave her a quavering smile. "Folk tales."

"Folk tales? You mean about what happens when there is an increase in burps?"

"Well, something like that. I am not affiliated with the measurement department. My specialty is time. However, I do enjoy collecting stories about odd magical phenomena. Most folk tales contain a kernel of truth, or a hint about something greater as I'm sure you know well."

Hermione looked at Ron and the two shared a grimace, remembering The Tales of Beedle the Bard and how long it had taken her to get at the truth.

"We do," she said. "Tell me, how much about this situation do you know? I assume, since you're not part of the Measurements community, that you didn't attend our conference that day…"

He shook his head. "You are correct. I didn't understand the whole picture until I spoke with Chilikov at the hospital after the explosion. That young Krum was there as well. I have been asked to come in an official capacity. However, I would have come anyway, if only because poor Alonso had asked me to help you."

"Tell me," Ron said in a pleasant voice. "If you are not associated with the Measurements Department, why have you been sent?"

Osterhoudt nodded, as if pleased by this question. "Because of what the possibilities are. I've been sent for the same reason as Ts'ao Daiyu."

"Who?" Hermione asked.

"The advisor from China," Ron explained.

Osterhoudt continued. "She is also not associated with Measurements."

"What is her specialty?" she asked.

"She is an archeologist. She has a reputation for being able to identify any magical artifact from the smallest shard."

Hermione frown in confusion. "What good is she then? I need experts in ley lines, not Time, or—"

She fell silent and the three of them turned as Alsea came in with the tea tray. When everyone had a cup and a biscuit, Osterhoudt answered.

"Miss Granger, I don't know if you are aware of how many people were hurt or killed in the explosion. There are few experts to send. Nearly everyone in the field was in that conference room when the explosion occurred. Chilikov informed me that he would have come to help you himself, but both of his legs were crushed. It will take time for him to heal. Until then…" The old man shrugged. "As for why I am here." He darted a look at Ron, seeming reluctant to speak in front of him. "If these burps are increasing, then there is no way to escape the conclusion that a great event is coming. All we know about it is that it will have the capability to change the world. There are several theories on what this event presages. It could either be a time dilation or the birth of a new magical artifact. Thus, you have been given two experts on those things. It could also be something else entirely, and other governments will send those people that they feel might be helpful."

Hermione leaned forward. "Do you believe the increase in burps has to do with time?"

He shook his head. "There isn't enough data yet to draw any kind of plausible theory. I am hoping that I could shadow one of your field agents when the next burp is detected and run some experiments to see if there are any time waves associated with the events."

Ron turned to her with a smug look and mouthed, '_Events_.' She responded with her _'Do shut up'_ face.

"That can be arranged, Mr. Osterhoudt. However, the agents fly at incredible speeds, and I would worry that you…"

He gave a squeaky chuckle. "My legs pain me upon occasion, Miss Granger, however, I assure you, I am still a bit wicked on a broom."

She smiled. "In that case, I have just the agent in mind. He's a bit wicked as well."

The three of them stood up. "It might be a long wait before we get a report of a_n_… event. There is no way to predict them."

"Don't you worry, Miss Granger. If this is a time dilation that's coming, then it will be one of _the_ preeminent events in the history of my field. I am not going anywhere."

"What is a time dilation?" Ron asked.

"It is a vortex that opens, allowing one to enter it and manipulate events either in the past or the future."

"Is there any record of other time dilations in the past?" Hermione asked

"Oh, yes. Yes indeed. Three of them. Thee last one occurred seven hundred years ago."

"What happened then? Was time manipulated?"

"We don't have any way to know. Records have been expunged in some places, lost in others. We know the event happened, and we know one result of the event, but we have no records about what led up to it or how it was dealt with."

"What was the result?" she asked.

He smiled. "The invention of Time-turners, Miss Granger."

Hermione nodded, lost in thought even as they took their leave of each other.

"Well?" Ron asked.

Hermione sat back down and watched Ron take the last biscuit. "He seems nice enough. And if he's right and it is a time dilation, it would give us a motive, wouldn't it?"

Ron nodded. "The ultimate motive." He sat back in his chair. "Let's play Paranoid. Go back over this whole conversation and find me something suspicious."

"That's easy. He said Alonso told him I needed help, but Alonso told me to play stupid and let him draw attention. The others he spoke with had no idea he was asking questions on my behalf, yet Osterhoudt did."

Ron nodded. "Now get rational."

Hermione slumped. "That's easy too. Alonso said he and Osterhoudt had been good friends for over forty years. It would be normal for him to confide more in a friend."

Ron frowned in disappointment. "Well, damn." He stood up and tugged at the collar of his robes. "Wouldn't it be nice if a suspect just walked in the damned door with 'It's Me' tattooed on his forehead?"

Hermione nodded. "Wouldn't it be nice if we could all just wake up tomorrow and have this already be over?"

She stood up and pulled her handbag out of her drawer.

"Where are you off to?"

"I need to see a man about a job. Mine."

"Don't tell me you're quitting?"

"More like falling on my sword."

:


	6. Chapter 6

**AN:** He's back...

* * *

><p>Hermione sat at the table in the reading room and pored over old records of magical phenomena, looking for clues. It was a ridiculous search, really. Without being able to narrow it down, she had no idea what she was looking for. However, it kept her busy. These days, there wasn't much for her to actually do.<p>

"You know," said a deep voice behind her. "It might all be explained away by a chemical imbalance in your brain."

She craned her neck. "Hello, Professor. Lovely to see you again as well. What are we discussing today?"

Snape came around the table and took a seat. He was holding a thick folder of parchment in his hands. "Your penchant for adventure and catastrophe. You might have an endorphin addiction, left over from what was supposed to be your childhood."

She snorted. "Hardly."

"Perhaps it's psychological," he said with a sneer. "You crave being important after ending up an insignificant functionary in an office that has nearly no relevance for anyone."

"Oh, do fuck off," she snapped. "If I wanted to be important I would hardly have resigned my position, would I?"

He seemed nonplussed by that. "Did you?"

"Last week."

"What on earth for?"

"To deprive you of something to sneer about."

He graced her with a superlative frown, but she ignored him and picked up another sheet of parchment, skimming the page.

"Minerva was very distraught when she heard you had been hurt in Myanmar."

Her eyes slid up the page and found his. She held his gaze just long enough to be disconcerting and then murmured, "Only Minerva?"

He pursed his lips, and she could swear he looked even more uncomfortable than he usually did.

"I would have thought Professor Flitwick and Hagrid would have been upset as well," she replied impishly.

His gaze went as flat as his mouth, and he flipped open his file. He gave her one last sour look before attending to his research.

"Thank you, Professor," she said quietly.

"For what?" he snapped.

"For caring."

He looked up at her and then back down again quickly. "Sod off, Granger."

She giggled.

When she'd reached the end of that file, she slapped it closed with a heavy sigh and saw she would have to go digging through the files for more. She'd finished the stack she'd pulled.

She looked over at Snape, who was scribbling notes with his ghastly nose nearly touching the page. She stared at the top of his head. The part in his hair was crooked. For some reason, she found that fascinating. To be honest, Snape had been fascinating to one degree or another since he'd slapped her arse. She rested one cheek on her fist and tried to find one strand of his hair that wasn't soot black. She knew she had at least five shades of brown in her hair, and the occasional blond or black. His hair was almost monotonous. Staring down at his hands, she watched him scribbling away. His fingers were long, the nails trimmed, and he had a slight discoloration on the pad of his thumb from years of ink stains. She peeked at her own thumb and rubbed at a similar stain with her index finger before looking back at him.

She wanted to ask him about his research, but knew from the last time that he didn't appreciate her inquisitiveness. Instead, she asked him something else.

"Why doesn't Caleb Lloyt like you?"

He sighed, but still didn't look up. "Slytherins never like each other."

"Really? But what about you and Malfoy?"

"Especially Malfoy and I."

"Well you must have got on well enough at some point. He made you the godfather of his son, after all."

Snape raised his head and stared at her. His eyes really were a rather remarkable color, and very good at non-verbal expressions of annoyance. "He did that to irritate me," he said.

Hermione chuckled at the long-suffering look on his face. "I don't believe you. I think the two of you are probably very good friends and just both too uptight to admit it."

This time, he managed to look pained, smug, and guilty all at the same time. "Malfoy and I had a falling out years ago."

"Oh? Why?"

"If I remember correctly, it had something to do with my sleeping with his wife."

Hermione's eyes flew wide, and she barked a laugh. "_No!_ When?"

He smirked and looked back down at his notes. "The last time? A month ago."

Hermione was flabbergasted. She broke into a tittering laugh. "_Snape!_ You're a dog!" She laughed harder when she saw the tips of his ears turn red where they stuck out from his long, lank hair.

"But you just disproved your theory, since Mrs. Malfoy was also a Slytherin."

He huffed. "I didn't say I liked her. I just said I'd slept with her. They're not as mutually dependant on each other as your romantic poets would have you think."

Dismayed, she blurted, "Then why would you do it?"

"Why not? I like to watch the vein throb in Lucius' forehead when we're forced to be social."

"And Mrs. Malfoy?"

"Hates her husband, but likes his wealth."

Frowning, she watched his quill scratch at his parchment for a few moments longer and huffed. "Your just playing the Slytherin again, aren't you? I think you told me this because you hoped it would get back to Draco."

He scowled with obvious disappointment and looked up at her. "And you won't tell a soul, will you? Gryffindors." He said that last with mild disgust.

"If I didn't tell anyone about Gertie, I'm hardly likely to tell them you've been shagging Draco's mum, am I? Why would you want Draco to know something like that? It's awful."

He sat back and dropped his quill. "The boy thinks too much of his mother. She practically picks out his cravat for the day. Malfoy wanted her taken down a peg so the boy could finish growing up, and I owed him a favor."

"Why?"

"He saved my life, didn't he?"

"Oh. Right." Hermione tried to follow the logic but got utterly lost. This glimpse into Slytherin politics made her head hurt. Irritated, she crossed her arms over her chest. "Did you really sleep with her? Or was that just a lie to start a rumor?"

He frowned, plainly insulted. "I have my faults, but lying isn't one of them."

Disappointed, she snapped, "You're despicable."

He rolled his eyes. "And this is news because…?"

"Because I'd always thought better of you."

He recoiled. Her words hung in the air for a moment and then he picked up his quill and went back to his notes. "Now you're just being stupid," he muttered.

"So it would seem," she snapped. "I was warned I was wrong about you. I should have listened." She snatched up the files she'd grabbed and stomped off to go and find more.

It took thirty minutes for him to ask.

"Warned by whom?"

She looked up from the parchment she was reading. "Excuse me?"

"Who warned you that you were wrong about me?"

"Caleb."

Snape huffed and bent down toward his papers again. She shrugged and went back to her own.

"You should stay away from that one," he said ten minutes later.

"He said the same about you," she replied without looking up. "Which of you am I supposed to listen to?"

"Most likely both of us. Just to be safe."

She let that sit for a minute and then asked, "Why should I stay away from Caleb?"

He looked up. "He's only interested in one thing."

"True, but that's not a problem anymore, now that I'm not his boss."

Snape's eyes grew wide and then he glowered at her in dismay. "I wasn't talking about _sex!_ I was talking about _money!_"

"Oh. Really?"

"Yes," he snapped. His face curled into a revolted scowl. "You can't be seriously interested in him…"

"Not that it's any of your business, but we have a date Friday night."

"You have a _date_ with him? What the hell for?"

"For sex, if there are any kind gods. I've been plagued with attractive men lately, and it's starting to take its toll."

She picked up a new file and left him opening and closing his mouth like a guppy. "He's older than _I_ am."

"Aren't we observant…"

"Why the hell would you want to date a man old enough to be your father?"

She lifted her eyes again and pinned him with a stare. She let a slow smile spread across her face, before she said, "I _like_ older men."

She'd been hoping to see his ears color again, or at least make him squirm a bit, however the result was not what she had been expecting at all.

His dark eyes seemed to dissolve into pools of liquid ink as his gaze began to slide across her face like a caress. They rested on her mouth, and when she found herself biting her lip, his gaze crawled up her features and caught hers again. He raised one eyebrow slowly and that was all it took for her face to begin to flood with heat. She felt her cheeks burn and grew light-headed. It wasn't until she saw spots that she realized it was because she'd stopped breathing.

"Craving a bit of _experience_, are you?" he said, in a voice dripping with promise instead of sarcasm.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, feeling herself color even more at his dark chuckle. "You're a bastard," she said in defeat.

"And this is news because…?" He smirked.

She shook her head and threw her hands up. "I give up. You're out of my league, Snape."

He chuckled again and the sexual tension he'd created with just a look burst like a soap bubble. He waved a hand at her files. "So what has you huffing and puffing this time? More tampered reports?"

She shook her head. "I wish it were that simple. No, I'm trying to find a needle in a haystack when I don't know what the needle looks like and I'm not sure what haystack it's in."

"That's a bit intellectually masochistic."

"You have _no_ idea."

"Are you going to indulge my token display of interest? Or shall I go back to my notes?"

She laughed at that. This new Snape was something beyond her understanding but somehow utterly enchanting. "Why do I like you?"

His eyebrows shot up. "I haven't the foggiest."

She laughed even harder. "I'm looking for a magical event that's presaged by lots of random dead spots in the ley lines. However, as luck would have it, it would seem that whenever it has happened before in history it was accompanied by an intentional eradication of the facts so that there is little to no information to fall back on when the event occurs again."

"Ley lines? I thought you just said you'd resigned from that position."

"I did, but it seems that didn't include actually moving to a new office. I'm now chief toadie to Urban Philips, the _former_ CSO—he'd been Imperioed into an alternative career as a turnip farmer and was more than happy to come back. I'm also on the multinational committee that has been formed to study the phenomena. Not that anyone else has the foggiest idea about what they're studying either."

Snape tilted his head to the side. "What type of event are we talking about?"

Hermione frowned. "I have no idea. It could be the return of Excalibur, or the return of Merlin, himself. It could be the birth of a new type of magical species, or a fantastic new magical artifact. It could be a rift in the space-time continuum allowing one to change history or shape the future, and it might even be a chance to chat with the Buddha. It could also be the end of the flipping world, but honestly? There are days lately where trying to figure it out makes my head hurt so much I wouldn't mind. All I know is someone is killing a lot of people to try and keep the knowledge of this impending event to themselves."

He was silent for a long moment, staring at her with his head canted to the side and his eyes full of alarm. He reached over to pluck the sheet of parchment from her hand and look at it, and she was intrigued by the open curiosity on his face. She'd obviously caught his actual interest, not just his polite interest.

"How did this end up in your lap?" he asked.

"Viktor would say it was fate," she said with a scowl. "I say it was just bad luck."

"Viktor?"

"Krum. You remember, Tri-wizard tournament? He's here with a few more people to aid in researching the subject. We're short on field agents, and he's a natural for the job. Anyway, somehow, this has become 'my' event because I'm the one that stumbled across the conspiracy. Honestly. You'd think that they would've figured out I was clueless when they all realized I hadn't earned my promotion to begin with. Even Harry is expecting me to pull a rabbit out of my arse to save the world, and he's the bloody chosen one."

Snape dropped the parchment on the stack. "You won't find your answers here. This is all official records. If the information was erased intentionally, as you say, then this place would have been picked clean first."

"Then where should I go?"

Snape gave her a look. "You need to look in the older Libraries. Your best bet would be the ones that were preserved by the Persians or the Umayyads. You'll want to try Esfahān or Córdoba. I would start in Esfahān."

"In Iran?"

He nodded. "The Wizarding Library there is ancient but hard to get into, you'd need permission. However, it's worth the effort. It has a lot of older records and a long history of ignoring the wishes of the rest of the world. They were and still are a fiercely independent-minded group of magical folk. If they were ordered to erase their records, they might just work harder to keep them. Just on principle."

He gathered up his papers when he was done speaking. "And now, if you will excuse me, I have a class to terrify. There's only a few weeks left of school, and it's always so delightfully easy to make them faint around this time."

She reached out and grabbed his wrist. "Thank you, Professor."

His eyes flashed with a memory of the slow burn they'd held earlier. "Call me _Severus_."

She snatched her hand away. "No."

He leaned across the table as she gathered up her own notes. "Coward."

She giggled. "Absolutely. Color me yellow."

He let out a dark chuckle as they both stood up and headed off to re-file their folders.

Wondering how quickly she could get to Iran, Hermione pushed open the door of the reading room and headed out into the hallway.

"There you are! I was just coming to find you."

She looked up to see Caleb coming at her down the corridor, his long coat flapping behind him. For some reason, his warm, lopsided smile made her feel guilty as the door opened behind her and Snape came out.

Caleb pulled up short and stared as Snape came to a halt right behind her. He stood so close, she could feel the heat radiating off him in the cool of the corridor. Hermione watched in dismay, her head swiveling, as the two men actually faced off with her in the middle. Caleb was a study in brown, with his brown leather trousers and coat, his brown eyes, hair, and tanned skin. It seemed the only other colors were the gold of his watch fob and the silver of his distinctive scar. Snape, on the other hand, was a study in black, which just set off his incredibly pale complexion.

He leaned in over her shoulder, and his voice came as a low, sexy growl in her ear. "You really do have lovely tits, Granger."

Despite the fact that she knew it was what he was aiming for, she felt herself blush to the roots of her hair. "You _berk!_" she hissed.

He passed her, taking several steps backwards to smirk at her before he turned on his heel and strode off. The look the two men shared as he passed Caleb might have killed any small creature stupid enough to fly between them.

Caleb turned to her and the look he gave her made her flesh crawl. "I thought I told you to stay away from him," he said when Snape was out of sight.

Hermione rolled her eyes and headed up the hallway. "Funny, he warned me about you, too. Really, this is getting old. Aren't you at least supposed to wait until _after_ our first date before you get possessive and controlling?"

He winced and shook his head. "My apologies."

She sighed, mollified by his apparent remorse. It was more than she would get from Snape she was sure.

"I'm only concerned. You can, of course, do as you please."

"_Thank_ you."

"Did you tell him I was taking you out this weekend?"

"I believe it came up."

Caleb set his jaw, obviously displeased. He stopped and caught at her sleeve. "Granger—_Hermione_—it's a known fact that Snape will sleep with anyone, especially someone else's anyone. If he's shown an interest in you at all, you can be sure it's because I did first."

She smiled and put her hand on his arm. "I have _no_ doubts about that. Don't worry, I've seen more sides of Snape in my last few conversations with him than I ever knew existed. I'm not nearly as naïve as I was before."

He frowned. "I rather liked you when you were naïve."

"Yes, and I rather liked you before I was told all you were interested in was money. Is that true?"

Caleb's eyes sparked with a sudden fury. "Snape?"

"Obviously."

He shook his head and started walking. She followed, and he slowed to let her catch up. "That was true a long time ago. My family is old and once was a lot more powerful. In fact, my grandfather several times removed owned a ten percent share of Gringotts. His father had been the one to allow that miserable Goblin, Gringott, to start taking Wizarding families' deposits. He'd worked out a nice, tidy profit from the transaction. His idiot son gave up our stake in the midst of a regrettable religious experience.

"By the time I came along, the Lloyts were even more pathetic than the Princes. I grew up in poverty, listening to endless stories about how rich we once were. The first time my father took me to Gringotts, I nearly came apart. All that gold, and we'd once own ten percent of it." He shook his head and stopped. "I dreamed of wealth as a lad. It _was_ all I was interested in when I was young." He looked at her. "But I grew up."

Hermione eyed him with curiosity. "You once told me that time doesn't change a man's nature that much."

He sighed. "Hermione, if I was still obsessed with wealth, would I have stayed in this job?"

She shook her head, conceding his point, and started walking again. He followed, looking at her intently. "You're thinking about Snape, aren't you?" he spat angrily.

She looked at him, guilt most likely written all over her face.

Caleb grabbed her by the arm and pulled her up against his chest, before leaning down and kissing her soundly.

Her world seemed to tilt, and before she could react, he tore his mouth away. "_Don't_ think about him."

She swallowed and blinked several times. "I wasn't thinking about _kissing_ him," she said. "I was thinking about the advice he'd given me on a bit of research."

Caleb flushed. "Oh."

Hermione shook her head and headed towards the door to the lift. "You said you were looking for me. What did you want?"

He pressed the call button and shoved his hands in his pockets, looking like a little boy who'd been scolded.

"I wanted to tell you we'd had two more reports of burps."

Hermione's eyes widened. "That's wonderful!" She caught herself. "In an end-of-the-world sort of way. I want you to take Mr. Osterhoudt out with you so he can check for time distortions."

Caleb shook his head. "Philips already sent Erina out with him. I came to ask if you wanted to ride with me."

Hermione frowned. "I can't, I have a meeting with the committee in an hour. Damn. I wanted Osterhoudt to go with you. You're the better flyer and you know his field."

He shrugged. "I can look for time distortions as well." He gave her a penetrating stare. "If you wanted to keep calling the shots, you should have kept your job," he said. "I think you would have eventually been better at it than Philips."

"If I had, we wouldn't have a date on Friday."

The lift arrived and they stepped inside. "There's always that," he said with a sexy smile.

* * *

><p>And there you have it...<p>

Crazy busy day will be crazy busy. Know that I love all my reviews, even if I don't get a chance to tell you. :-D


	7. Chapter 7

**AN:** Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed! I read them all, but have little time to do more than that, my apologies. Consider yourselves hugged. And extra hugs to Hebe for making my crazy adventure tale sound less schizophrenic.

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><p>Hermione headed down to the Ministry gymnasium with her bag. Ten minutes later, she was standing by the mats, tying her hair up with a scrunchie. She did a few stretches while she waited. The door opened and Ron and Harry came in lugging their own gym bags. Quint followed them, looking sheepish.<p>

"Give us a minute," Harry called.

"Him too?" she asked, gesturing at the fourth wheel.

"Do you mind? He said he wanted to work out."

She grinned like a feral cat. "Not at all."

She finished stretching and then broke into a loose jog around the perimeter as the boys changed into the same style of grey t-shirt and loose trousers that she wore. By the time they came out, she was taping her hands up. She dipped up a handful of chalk dust and smeared it on her hands and arms.

"No spells," she said.

Ron and Harry exchanged a worried look.

"Sounds good," said Quint. "What's on the menu?"

"Basically," said Harry. "We beat each other to a pulp and whoever is still standing heals the others."

"Sounds fun," he said. "You ready?" He looked at Hermione, clearly unsure of how to take her expression.

"Quint, I think Hermione might have had a bad day. Perhaps—"

"Nah, she's already caught me off guard once. I can handle—"

Hermione punched him in the throat and followed it with a rounder to his temple. He went down like a sack of bricks. She turned on Ron who made a squeaky noise.

Harry came at her with a high kick to the head. She blocked it with a raised arm, but Ron kicked her legs out from under her. She rolled to the side as Quint staggered to his feet. She sprang back up and threw another punch at his head, but he caught her fist in his hand.

"Nuh uh. Not again, little lady." He ducked under her arm and rolled her over his back. She landed with a thud and looked up to see Ron grab him and flip him over his shoulder just before Harry landed a blow on Ron's head. After that it was a free-for-all.

By the end, Ron was rolling on the ground grabbing his bleeding nose and Quint was trying to groan his nutsack back into shape. Hermione and Harry were still going at each other throwing and blocking as fast as humanly possible. Harry ducked, and his fist came up into her stomach. She went down in a ball of pain and fury. She _never_ won.

He collapsed down next to her and pulled his wand from the sheath on his thigh. After a few flicks, they were all lying flat and staring up at the ceiling, trying to catch their breath.

"You want to tell us what the hell that was about?" Harry gasped.

"Do I really have to explain?" she said, prodding at her belly. "That's gonna leave a mark."

"No," Ron puffed. "You just need to be specific."

"Not to me," Quint said, rolling over with a groan and crawling toward the bottled water lined up next to the mat. "I knew I had it coming."

"It can't be just that," Harry said. "You know we sent him after you because we were worried."

"I'm aggravated that we've gotten nowhere on the four murders in my department. And yes, I _am_ still angry with the both of you over _that_. Sending him after me is one thing. Sending him to pretend to be interested? That was low, even for you two fuckwits."

Ron lifted a tired hand and waved it in the air. "That was my idea. You seemed lonely, and I'd seen him checking out your arse."

"Oi!" Quint yelled. "Leave a man a little dignity!" He crawled back towards Hermione and offered her a bottle. "Here."

"Thank you."

"Thank me by going out with me this weekend," he said. "I might even be able to feel my bits again by then."

"I can't. My dance card is full. I have a date with Caleb on Friday and dinner with Viktor on Saturday. Sunday, I think I'm heading to Iran."

Harry stretched toward the water bottles. "Iran? What's in Iran?" He grabbed one and lobbed it at Ron before taking another for himself.

"Snape said that I had a better chance if looked there for answers."

"Snape?" Ron sat up. "What's he got to do with anything?"

"Not a whole lot, but he's been helpful when I needed it."

The four of them looked up as the door to the gym squeaked open. Alsea came in, looking worried. Hermione flipped over onto her hands and knees to stand up.

"Miss Granger? I tried Flooing you at home and then remembered it was your night at the gym." She gave the group of them a wary look. Ron's nose wasn't bleeding anymore, but all of them were still wearing his blood.

"What is it?"

"It's Caleb. He didn't turn in his report on the burp he went to investigate, so I Flooed him at home. You know how he sometimes forgets."

"Go on," she said, her stomach knotting up under the bruise Harry gave her.

"I already informed Mr. Philips, but I wanted you to know as well. I think something's happened to him. He wasn't answering, and from what I could see through the fire, his home has been ransacked."

Hermione was sprinting out of the gym door before Harry and Ron had even made it off the mat.

:

Hermione carefully walked through the wreckage of Caleb Lloyt's house. She kept wanting to pick things up and set them to rights, but the Aurors with her had repeatedly told her not to touch anything.

Everything was smashed. She'd peeked in his bedroom, but there was nothing there to give her any sense of the person who slept there. Pictures that had been on the wall had been hexed to smoking ruin, drawers had been pulled out and their contents dumped. Even the mattress had been slashed and the stuffing had been pulled out. She wrapped her arms around herself and stepped back into the kitchen.

Ron came up and dropped a warm hand on her shoulder. "There's no trace of blood. Keitch thinks he wasn't here when it happened."

"Yeah, but then where was he? And where is he now?"

"That we don't know, but we've people out checking all of his known acquaintances and hang outs." He pulled her into a hug. "Come on." He led her over towards the fireplace. "You two had something starting, right? Let's see if he didn't think to run to you."

She looked up at him with a start. "Do you think?"

"Why not? I would have."

They made their way past Harry, who gave them a nod, and Quint, who looked at her with sympathy, before making their way to her flat.

It was empty when they got there. Ron made a careful search but nothing had been disturbed. In the end, he headed off to the shower, while she grabbed fresh sheets for the spare room. He'd decided to spend the night on the off-chance Caleb showed up and was hurt.

Hermione had just finished changing for bed when she heard the water shut off, followed by Ron's shout. She raced down the hall and threw open the bathroom door just as Ron was tucking the flap of towel around the edge on his waist. He pointed, and she turned her head.

Words were written in the steam on the mirror. She closed the door to keep the steam in and leaned in to read them.

_Granger, Don't trust Osterhoudt. Chronominium. —Caleb_

"Is that his handwriting?" Ron asked.

"Hard to tell when you write with a finger," she replied.

"What's Chronominium?"

"I have no idea. It sounds like some sort of element, but it's nothing I've ever heard of."

"I'm calling Harry."

:

Hermione sat at her kitchen table staring at all the empty teacups. It seemed like the entire MLE had trooped through her small house in the last two hours while she'd done nothing but pour tea. She heard the Floo activate one last time and then there was no one left but Harry and Ron.

"Well, it definitely was Caleb Lloyt who wrote on the mirror, so we know he was alive and in your flat at some point," Harry said as he sat down across from her. "Keitch thinks he wrote it hours ago, knowing it would show when you showered."

Ron gathered two fistfuls of teacups by their handles and took them to the sink.

"Do you have any idea why Caleb wouldn't trust Osterhoudt?"

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know. I'm so sick with worry and so tired I can't think."

"Did they know each other before, perhaps?" asked Ron.

"Not that I know of. I don't recall them acting unfriendly—wait…"

"What?"

"Now that I think of it, I don't remember them interacting at all. I'm not sure they were ever in my office at the same time."

"Perhaps they didn't know they were both in the same area until today?"

"No, Caleb had heard me talk about Osterhoudt often enough this last week. But I can't say that Osterhoudt knew Caleb worked there." She frowned, scratching at her head. "Ron, when you did that background check on Osterhoudt, did you find out what department he worked in when he worked for our Ministry?"

"He was an Unspeakable. I can only assume it was the Time Chamber."

Hermione sat up. "That would be it! Caleb worked in the Time Chamber as well! Before he came over to Measurements." She grimaced and looked at the other two. "Apparently their department was shut down after we trashed the place.

"That sort of odd, isn't it?" Harry asked. "Why would they shut down an entire department because we smashed up some equipment?"

"Perhaps because we smashed up _all_ their equipment," Ron replied. "Remember that glass jar with the Hummingbird in it?"

"Oh, yeah," said Harry. "It kept turning back into an egg, and hatching, over and over again."

Ron scrunched up his face. "A bit useless, actually, when you think about it."

Hermione stared down at the piece of parchment in front of her where she'd copied Caleb's message. "Chrono means time," she said. "Perhaps this Chronominium is some element related to time."

"Or a spell," said Harry.

"Or a potion," added Ron.

Hermione looked up. "Or a potion ingredient?"

She stood. "We need answers, but the one expert sent to me is now on our suspect list, and the other we know of is either on the run or..." She let that thought fade away. "We need a new expert. How do we find out who else worked in that department when they're all Unspeakables?"

Harry stood up. "I'll ask Kingsley in the morning. The Minister of Magic has access to everything. If the department is defunct, then unless they went to work in another part, it's not Unspeakable anymore. Right?"

"Caleb said as much."

"Good. We'll start getting answers in the morning. Until then, I think we all need our sleep." Harry turned to Ron. "Did you want me to throw some spare clothes through the Floo?"

"Yeah, that would be good."

Harry kissed Hermione on the top of her head. She got up and headed off to brush her teeth, clutching the slip of parchment.

When she stepped back out of the bathroom, she headed back toward her sitting room.

"Wrong way," Ron said as he came toward her with an armful of his Auror's robes.

"I'll go to bed in a minute. I want to ask someone a question first."

He rolled his eyes and kissed her on top of her head. "By the way, I didn't get a chance to apologize for Quint. It was a boneheaded idea in hindsight."

"It really was. In fact, I think it ranks up there as the all-time worst."

"That good, eh?"

"That bad. In the future, allow me to worry about my own social life."

"Or lack thereof," he quipped heading off toward his bed. "By the way, you punching Quint in the throat was one of the best images ever. The look on his face was priceless."

"Thanks," she said.

She headed over toward her fireplace and grabbed a handful of Floo powder. "Hogwarts! Professor Snape's rooms!"

The fire blazed green as she knelt down by the hearth. "Professor?" she called out nervously, only now realizing the time. She bit her lip as she stared at the settee in the small sitting room before her. If her days as a student were anything to go by, Snape was a night owl. That didn't mean he would take kindly to Floo calls in the middle of the night.

She was about to close the connection when she heard footsteps. She saw boots and a swirl of black robes.

"Miss Granger?" He knelt down on one knee and his face appeared in the flames. "Do you realize the time?"

She winced. "My apologies. Something's come up and, well, I have a question to ask you."

He pulled back. "Come through."

She blinked. She hadn't been expecting that. She got off her knees and stepped into the flames.

Despite all the Aurors that had been in her house, she didn't remember until she was standing in Snape's sitting room that she was dressed for bed. She folded her arms across her chest and tilted her chin up, feeling defensive in her blue flannel pj's with white clouds all over them and her fuzzy slippers.

He, on the other hand, looked as austere as ever in his _de rigueur_ black. He raised an eyebrow and looked her up and down. "Charming," he said.

"I wasn't expecting an invitation," she mumbled.

"Obviously."

She shifted from foot to foot.

"You had a question?"

She blinked. "Yes. I did, actually. Have you ever heard of Chronominium?"

"No. What is it?"

She sagged. For some reason, she had been sure he would know. He'd managed to help her twice when she was stuck, and she had been sure he could again.

"I was hoping you could tell me. I fear I've wasted your time. I'm sorry."

She turned back toward the fireplace.

"Wait."

She stopped.

"What is this about?"

She sighed and dragged a hand through her hair. "I still don't know," she said miserably.

"Can I offer you some wine? Or perhaps something stronger? You look like you need it."

"I shouldn't stay."

"I at least deserve an explanation."

She nodded her head. "Wine would be lovely."

He swept a hand toward the settee and headed over toward a table with several bottles on it. He poured two glasses of red wine and came back. He offered her a glass and sat down in the chair near the end of the settee. He arranged the folds of his robes with a few fastidious tugs of his hand and then looked over at her. She took a sip of her wine and started talking.

An hour later she was sitting cross-legged on the floor staring into the flames and hugging a small cushion to her stomach while Snape flipped through several books muttering to himself.

She wondered at just how much of the story she had dumped in his lap. Snape had never struck her as a good listener before. In fact, she's spent her childhood trying to get him to listen to anything she had to say. Nevertheless, he'd sat there, with his head tilted to the side throughout her entire diatribe as she explained exactly what had been going on since she'd first recieved a memo to see Kingsley about a promotion. He'd asked her leading questions now and again until he had the whole story.

That was when he'd jumped up and started looking through books.

She drained her glass of wine—she was determined to stick to two only—and set it on the table behind her.

Another book closed with a muffled thump and a muttered oath. He sighed heavily. "Miss Granger, come with me."

He turned away from his extensive shelves and swept towards the door. She scrambled up and hurried after him, out into his office, and then his classroom. He still had the hideous pictures illustrating Dark Curses on the walls.

"You know," she said, "you really need new illustrations. Those ones are bordering on camp."

He looked at them and then around at her. He stopped short, and she almost barreled into him. "This won't do," he said, waving a hand at her attire. "Anyone that sees us will think you'd been sleeping somewhere in the castle, and since I'd be with you, I fear the list of possible locations would be rather… short."

He flicked his wand several times and then spun away, heading out of the classroom.

She looked down at herself. "And this is so much better?" she yelled after him. She scurried to catch up, wearing a scaled down version of his own robes. She was going to give him what for, but became distracted by her own billow. "I say, this is good fun!"

He looked down at her and smirked.

A few minutes later, they were sneaking into the library.

"Why are we sneaking?" she whispered.

"You didn't think the students were the only ones terrified of Pince, did you?"

Soon enough, she was sitting at a table in the restricted section reading through a stack of tomes by wandlight. The déjà vu was most distracting.

"I feel like I'm supposed to be wearing Harry's invisibility cloak," she whispered.

"Spent a lot of time under Potter's cloak, did you?" His voice came from behind a shelf.

She smirked. "Too much."

"That's a surprise; I'd always thought you were humping Weasley."

Her eyes widened. "That's not what I meant! I was talking about breaking school rules! Harry and I never—Ugh. No."

"You always were so strange, Granger. Half the girls in the school at the time wanted Potter and would be offended at being accused of breaking school rules."

"Yes, well…" She fell silent. She really didn't have a retort for that. She went back to her reading, ignoring his dark chuckle.

More time passed before she heard a muffled expletive and then Snape's footsteps as he came out of whatever stack he'd burrowed into. He leaned over her and dropped the book he had on top of hers, setting one hand on the table to her left and curling the other around her right side to stab at the book. He smelled good. Really good. She'd never noticed that before.

She followed his long finger down to the passage.

"_The sands, made up of pure Chronominium, are capable of transporting a person backwards along the stream. However, care must be taken in the design of a Time-Turner to allow for accuracy, and diligence must be applied in their usage. Overuse of a Time-turner can result in_…"

"You found it!" she squealed far too loudly. She lowered her voice. "Now we just need to figure out what this has to do with anything."

She turned her head to find Snape's right next to hers. His eyes gleamed with something akin to lust, but he was looking at the page, not at her. She blinked. He turned to her and only then realized how close he was. He seemed to flow backwards away from her.

She scrambled for a quill and copied the relevant passage down, along with the title and author of the book. Snape was already snatching up other books and hastily putting them on shelves. Within moments, the library looked as if they had never been there.

They made short work of sneaking back down to the DADA classroom and back into his chambers.

"Thank you, Professor," she said, restraining her impulse to give him a victory hug. "This is the first real breakthrough I've had."

"It was my pleasure, Miss Granger," he said. His body language seemed stiff, counteracting the warmth in his voice. "I would like it if you could keep me apprised of further developments. It is a most intriguing situation. It seems certain now that whatever is going on, the people causing the most mischief believe it is, indeed, a time event."

"Now I just need to figure out exactly what sort of time event, and how to detect it," she replied. "I'm hoping I'll find out more in Iran when I get there on Sunday."

He gave her a small smile. "I wish you luck." She turned toward his fireplace but he stopped her. "Granger." She looked back over her shoulder. He scrunched up his face and then sighed. "I'm sorry about Mr. Lloyt. I'm sure he's fine. In fact, I would look in Llangynog. He had relatives there that could hide him forever if need be."

"Thank you, Severus," she said with a smile.

"I still think you're better off without the bastard," he snapped.

"I'm sure, wherever he is, he still thinks the same about you."

Snape's frown turned into a smirk, "Yes, but you're not _with_ me, are you…"

She swallowed and turned away, grabbing up a handful of Floo powder. "No. I'm not." She smirked back at him over her shoulder. "Not tonight, anyway." She dashed into the Floo before he could respond.

:

"Bloody hell! Where have you been?" snapped Ron, standing there with his arms crossed over his chest. "And what the hell are you _wearing_?"

Hermione looked down at her black robes with their hundreds of buttons. Instead of answering, she held up the paper in her hand.

Ron read it and then hugged her tight. "Good work," he said with feeling.

She hugged him back, kissed him good night, and then billowed off to her bed.

"That's creepy, that is!" he called after her.

* * *

><p>:<p>

Creepy is such a relative term...

Also, I have received several requests for paddiew's Spam Sushi recipe. I can tell you for sure that there is spam and a small plastic gadget involved...


	8. Chapter 8

**AN:** Hugs to everyone and thank you for all the wonderful reviews. Warning: Plot thickening ahead.

* * *

><p>Hermione sat in the conference room and tried not to stare holes into Abel Osterhoudt. The elderly wizard looked utterly harmless, with his kindly face and bemused smile. Nevertheless, Dumbledore had also looked like a saint and hadn't been one either.<p>

She focused her mind on the other occupants of the room. Viktor was seated next to Chilikov. The older Bulgarian man was still recuperating, but had made the journey anyway.

Next to them sat Harley Stierman. She'd come over from the United States to help coordinate the data from the various International Departments of Measurements. The Yanks had reported a mild increase in burps, with the rate increasing in Alaska. Next to her sat Guy Charbono from Canada, an expert on Magical Creatures. The Canadians also reported an uptick, but not as many. They seemed to be holding out for the birth of a new species. Next came Ts'ao Daiyu, the woman from China. Unlike Madam Zhou, Ts'ao was close-lipped and uncooperative. She seemed to think the burps presaged the spontaneous creation of an artifact but wouldn't explain why. Hermione didn't like her at all. There were several people from South America. Three field agents from Argentina and two from Brazil. They still reported no increase in burps but had thought the northern Hemisphere could use the help with tracking. João Krieger, Hector Abraão's Personal Assistant, had come as well, and had become the South American coordinator. Next to him sat John Gaxa, the liaison for the African Magical Collective. He reported the findings from ten sub-Saharan countries. They also showed no increase in burps.

Next to her sat Urban Philips, in his crisp, dark-blue robes. He was every inch the British ministry worker. Silver-haired and slightly stodgy, he projected absolute confidence, along with the effortless condescension that so many of his ilk had when surrounded by foreigners. Hermione didn't really like him, he was cold and supercilious, but he did his job a lot more efficiently than she'd done.

He cleared his throat and the murmurs around the room fell silent.

"Before you are the latest reports on burps that have been collated from the readings coming in from around the globe," Philips said to the parchment before him. "As you can see, we are experiencing an increase in parts of North America, the British isles, and the Central Siberian Plateau. The figures in other parts of the Northern hemisphere, while not increasing noticeably in the last two weeks, haven't decreased either."

He finally looked up.

"We have no consensus on what the nature of the event is, still," his voice dripped with annoyance, "and I'm not really interested in further debate on that aspect of the phenomenon. I move that we form different committees that will each interpret the data to their advantage and research to their heart's delight. The first one to save the world wins." He gave a small, uncomfortable laugh that left the room as silent as a tomb. "Yes. Right. To that end, I appoint Miss Ts'ao as head of those looking at this as an event presaging some sort of artifact. Mt. Osterhoudt will be in charge of looking for evidence that there will be a time dilation, or what have you. Mr. Charbono will coordinate the search for a new species, and Mr. Gonzalez will be in charge of searching for evidence that the event is… _theological_ in nature.

"Everyone will meet together every three days to report any progress, or lack thereof, and our reports of ley line activity will be supplied to you on a daily basis."

He looked around the room.

"Any questions?"

Osterhoudt raised his hand. "What duties will Miss Granger be taking over? I had thought that she was coordinating the varying areas of research."

Hermione turned her head to her boss, keeping her face neutral. She'd been wondering the same thing.

Philips gave a tight smile. "Miss Granger's duties will be taken up by others. As talented as she no doubt is, it has been decided that she lacks the experience and knowledge to take any part in leading this operation."

Despite the fact that she'd been saying pretty much the exact same thing for weeks, Hermione felt like she'd been kicked in the gut. Her anger rushed through her and unfortunately resulted in a sudden and urgent need to cry. She hated when she did that and refused to show it, even though she could feel the sting in her eyes.

"You are making a mistake!" snapped Viktor in anger. Chilikov silenced him with a scowl and looked smug.

"You're opinion of Miss Granger's abilities does her credit. Nevertheless, she will be given other duties within our department, since we are short-handed, and will have less time for these other aspects of the investigation."

Philips pushed back in his chair. "Now, if that is all, we will meet again in three days."

He turned away from the table, and as he did so, he hissed, "Granger, follow me and keep your mouth shut."

She blinked several times and gathered up the parchment in front of her and stood. She sent a grateful look to Viktor before following Philips out of the room.

They headed toward the lifts where he commandeered the car for themselves, asking the two Ministry workers already forming a queue for their understanding.

Once the car was underway, he turned to her. "We have another meeting. Calm yourself and pay attention."

She frowned, confused, but kept her mouth shut and her face forward. Now that the initial shock was behind her, she found she felt far less anger and much more of something that tasted suspiciously like relief. She sent Philips a puzzled glance when she saw the car coming to a stop at level one.

Philips courteously gestured for her to go ahead of him, but then overtook her and entered the Office of the Junior Assistant to the Prime Minister. He ignored the man sitting at the reception desk and made his way over to a small door marked 'cloakroom'. Hermione followed, shooting the receptionist a confused look. Once inside, her confusion deepened, but her anxiety abated instantly.

Harry stood up and waved her into the seat he had held. She looked around and saw Ron, Quint, an older blonde woman she didn't know, the Prime Minister, and… Professor Snape.

She threw him a bewildered look, but he only raised an eyebrow and looked beyond her to Harry.

"Now that we are all here," Kingsley said. "Shall we begin? Harry, tell Hermione what you've found out today."

She turned to Harry who lifted the parchment in his hand and began speaking.

"This morning, the Minister authorized a list of those Unspeakables that worked for the Time Chamber to be put together. There were fifteen names on the list. Five Aurors split up and went looking for them. He looked at Hermione. "With the exception of Abel Osterhoudt and Caleb Lloyt, they're all dead."

"_What?_ How?"

"Nothing to draw suspicion," he answered. "Natural causes or accidents, all down the line. It started eighteen months ago."

"Good gods."

Harry nodded at Quint, who cleared his throat. "Caleb Lloyt was spotted in Wales—Llangynog, to be precise." Hermione sank back against her chair. "However, he had already moved on before we could talk to him, and his uncles were less than forthcoming about where he might be now."

Hermione looked up. "That's good, right?"

Quint looked at Harry before answering. "Unless he's a suspect."

"What do you mean?"

Ron answered. "I've been checking out Osterhoudt. He has a solid alibi for his whereabouts for the last three years. Until the Myanmar conference, he hadn't left Bulgaria at all. Unless he had a hired hand, he couldn't have been the one to kill those people. The amount of supervision required of someone manipulating your department that would be on a near daily basis makes the likelihood of it having been done by a flunky pretty remote. However, the likelihood of Lloyt wanting us to be suspicious of someone else…? Well, that's far more feasible."

Shacklebolt cleared his throat and leaned forward, folding his hands in front of him. "Basically, what this all means is that we have nothing. We have no idea who has murdered over thirty of people, both here and in Yangon. We have no idea what this event everyone is so excited about _is_, and we have no idea how to stop them."

Hermione nodded, still confused, and, after having suspicion dumped on the man she'd grown rather fond of, more than a little miserable.

"Therefore, I have ordered steps to be taken." Kingsley looked at Hermione. "Today it was announced that you would be removed from the investigation."

She nodded, accepting the fact with grace.

"That's actually a lie."

She blinked.

"I'm putting you in charge of my own investigation, and you will have your own team."

"I'm sorry? I don't understand."

"Hermione, you will be given free rein to look wherever you need to look and go wherever you need to go without having to worry about dragging an ever-increasing number of international counterparts with you to criticize your every move."

She turned toward Philips. "But… this is his gig," she blurted.

Philips shook his head. "You started the ball rolling, Miss Granger. I'll keep that group down there on their toes and churning out information, but you'll be our wild card. When you're at the Ministry, you will be treated like a nobody. However, the truth is, I now report to you."

She turned her head and stared at Kingsley. "Why me?"

"You're the one that uncovered this."

"Only because Harry was suspicious!"

"You're the one that has found the only answers so far."

"Only with Professor Snape's help!"

"That's why he's here," Shacklebolt replied. "He's on your team, along with Harry, Ron, Quint, Urban and anyone else you think you can trust beyond doubt."

Hermione looked around the room. "This is ridiculous! I'm not qualified! I was never qualified! Harry's the Chosen one! I'm just me!"

The woman at the table cleared her throat. Turning towards her, Hermione took in her curve-hugging robes and over-done eyeliner and judged her to be in her mid-fifties and obviously unhappy with her fading looks. She gave her a polite smile.

"Unfortunately, Miss Granger, Mr. Potter's run out of prophecies." She lifted a box and pushed it across the table towards her. "You haven't." She flipped the catch and lifted the lid. There, on a stand lying in a bedding of velvet was a glass orb.

Hermione slammed against the back of her chair in her effort to get away from the thing. "No!" She stood up and backed away. "The hell with this!" She looked at Harry, and when she saw his complete and total understanding, it was all suddenly too much. Pressing her hands to her mouth, she was already bending toward him as he came over to her and hugged her close.

"I know. Trust me, I know. You're trapped," he whispered. "But you're not alone."

"I don't want this anymore. I'm not qualified!"

Harry hugged her tighter. "Neither was I," he said, "and you and Ron weren't qualified to help me either. Well, now I get to be unqualified to help you. You are _not_ alone." His arms loosened and he patted her shoulder. "Now. Do what you have to. I know you will do your best."

She nodded and turned back toward the table. With a quick look around, she reached out her hand and carefully plucked the globe out of the box.

It blossomed with light and smoke and a voice filled the air, old and quavering, and yet clearly masculine.

_'Hunted by all and sundry, betrayed at every turn, _

_The Golden Third will hold the world's fate in her heart._

_She will strive to control the Crystal of Time, only to fail at the end._

_Fate will depend on her courage. Time will depend on her conviction._

_Life and death will depend on the one she cuts deepest._

_Keep her safe, for without her, all will be undone.'_

"Oh, lovely. I fail. Perfect, just what I wanted to hear." She let the globe drop back into the case and stared at it, feeling curiously dead inside. "I thought we smashed all of these the night we trashed the Time Chamber."

"This is more recent," the woman said. "It was recorded by one Alvin Grannog three years ago on his death bed."

Hermione sighed. The woman had to be an Unspeakable.

She huffed and turned toward Kingsley. "So what now?"

The Minister stood up. "Philips will keep you up to date on the latest from the committee downstairs, Harry will keep you up to date on the murder investigations, Madam Worple here will help you with any esoteric research, and Severus has offered to assist in any way you deem appropriate. Nothing of this will be discussed inside the Ministry. Meetings will be held at Grimmauld Place when you need them."

"How original," Snape drawled with mild disgust.

She looked at him and it occurred to her that she'd somehow dragged him into this unwillingly. She felt a stab of guilt.

"Now, now, Severus," said Kingsley. "You came to us wanting to be a part of it, and now you are."

Hermione's brows flew up, and Snape darted a look at her, managing to convey his extreme discomfort. He'd volunteered? How… weird.

"Right. Well, first order of business, I'm off to Esfahān." She waved a hand at Harry, Ron and Quint. "I suppose the three of you should start packing." She turned to Snape. "I would like for you to come as well, Professor."

He raised an eyebrow, managing to convey volumes on his opinion of her tone. "Unfortunately, Miss Granger, I have classes to teach for another two weeks and not enough time to arrange for someone to cover them."

She grimaced. "Oh, right."

Kingsley cleared his throat. "Harry and Ron shouldn't go either. We're trying to keep a lid on this and nothing would look more suspicions than the three of you up and taking off in the middle of multiple homicide investigations and the suspected end of the world."

She frowned. "This being in charge seems a bit less 'in-charge-ish' than I'd thought." She looked at Quint. "Pack. We leave tomorrow morning."

"You said you were going Sunday," he blurted.

"I told everyone I was going Sunday. If we're supposed to keep this under wraps, then waiting is stupid, isn't it?"

"Oh, right."

She sighed and headed toward the door.

"Hermione, hang on a few more moments, if you would." She turned in time to see Kingsley flick his hand at the others. "The rest of you may go."

Hermione watched the room empty out of everyone but her, the Minister, and the Unspeakable. Snape had been the first out, and one would have thought he'd left his kettle on.

Kingsley sighed and sat back down. "There's something we can do that will help you with your research. It will grant you better access to the Libraries you need to go to and other things you might find helpful."

"Oh?"

He waved a hand at the older witch, who'd just closed the catch on the prophecy. She set the box aside and looked up at Hermione. "I'm an Unspeakable," she said.

Hermione frowned. "I guessed that, actually."

"—and if you agree, so are you."

Hermione sat down. "But—" She didn't _want_ to be an Unspeakable. Unspeakables moved through the Ministry like ghosts, unable to discuss anything but the most trivial gossip with anyone outside of their department. It had struck her as an even sadder and duller existence than being a bean-counter in the budget office.

"Unspeakables travel with less scrutiny," continued the woman, "and don't have to report to foreign Ministries to register their research as long as they share it with their host colleagues. It would take away a barrier between you and knowledge, Miss Granger."

"It would put one between me and everyone else," she said.

"The prophecy already has done that."

"If the prophecy came out three years ago, why did you wait to tell me now?"

"We wouldn't have told you at all if the Minister didn't demand we turn over everything we knew to you."

"Why?"

"Do you think your friend Mr. Potter was helped by his prophecy? I believe if you ask him, he would tell you he would have preferred having a family. We do not make a habit of broadcasting people's fates."

"Aren't prophecies, by their very nature, inescapable?"

"Are they?"

"You tell me," Hermione snapped. "You work in the Hall of Prophecy."

Kingsley piped up. "Madam Worple actually runs the Department of Mysteries."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Oh." The woman didn't look old enough. "I meant no disrespect."

"Yes, you did. However, it was to be expected. Now, it's time for your Unbreakable Vow."

Hermione nodded and stood up. The words were very short and to the point. Kingsley acted as bonder, while Hermione swore to be faithful and diligent in her research, keep dangerous knowledge from the public, and to not reveal the names of any persons or projects within the department unless granted leave to do so. All in all, a bit of a letdown, really.

"That's it?"

"Yes. We deal with the unknown and the unknowable, Miss Granger. A stronger vow might accidentally kill us."

"What if I'm accidentally not diligent?"

"If you find yourself losing interest in your research, come to me and I will release you from the department and the penalties of your Vow."

Hermione nodded and started to take her leave, but stopped. "You told me you were the Head of the Department before I took my vow. How did you know I would agree?"

"What makes you sure I haven't just Obliviated you every time you said no?"

Hermione frowned. "That's a disturbing thought."

Madam Worple smiled but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Welcome to the Department of Mysteries."

* * *

><p>dun dun <em>duuuunnn<em>...


	9. Chapter 9

**AN**: Okay, time to fix a brainfart. In the first chap, I said I owed a fic for coffeeonthepatio. I'm getting my beverages mixed up. I owe a fic to Drinkingcocoa, and the note applies to her. I'm gonna go change that now.

* * *

><p>Getting to Esfahān wasn't as easy as Hermione had thought. She'd been away from Muggle news for a while and hadn't quite realized how deeply Muggle events dictated Wizarding travel. No one portkeyed into Iran.<p>

She and Quint ended up portkeying to Istanbul, Turkey instead, and then made their way to Tütünlü, before heading to the Wizarding village of Kış Ağaçi on the border. By the time they arrived at the village, they were exhausted. They made their way to the inn and found rooms for the night.

The next morning, they shared a hasty breakfast of bread stuffed with herbs and cheese, washed down with honeyed tea. They had almost finished eating when they were introduced to their guides. Peyami Celikoglu was a forty-something man with a pleasant face and warm smile. Kadriye Yilmaz, his aunt, was a spry seventy, and reminded Hermione of a Turkish Minerva. She was practical, where Mr. Celikoglu was not.

"Why do you go to Esfahān?" the man said after they'd joined them at the table. "This is patently foolish! We have the best Libraries in the world in our country. Esfahān is just old. Everything you need to know you can find here. We have all the books on all the magics."

Hermione smiled. "I might take you up on that recommendation. However, I have been told to start in Esfahān, and so I shall. I have no doubt that I will be even more pleased to see your libraries, if the library at Esfahān is as poor as you say."

"Leave the girl, fool," said Madam Yilmaz. "She must finish eating." She turned to Hermione. "Forgive my sister's son. He is proud."

"Kadriye _hanim_, there is nothing to forgive."

Madam Yilmaz smiled broadly and turned to her nephew. "You see? I told you." She turned back to Hermione. "He said you would have no manners, because you would be ignorant. Worry not, I spent time in your England. I understand your culture, unlike my sister's son here. He only knows what he reads in the papers. However, even our papers have told us who Hermione Granger is. You honor us with your trust. We will get you to Esfahān."

"I hope I am worthy of your help," she answered.

Madam Yilmaz smiled. "You are lovely."

:

They left an hour later. Hermione wasn't thrilled with the mode of transportation. There was no Apparition inside Iran. Their Ministry had outlawed it in 1386 and enforced it with a series of spells that redirected your destination to the bottom of the Caspian Sea.

As nervous as she was, the carpet gave her more of a sense of false security than a broom ever did. Kadriye controlled the one she and Hermione shared, and after a quick lesson that apparently required a short game of catch-me-if-you-can with a laughing Peyami, Quint had his own.

They all dressed as Muggles, Quint and Peyami in t-shirts and jeans, and the women in the light-weight long coats and comfortable cotton jersey trousers. They had taken the precaution because there were no Wizarding communities between the border and Kilaneh. Indeed, there were few Wizarding communities anywhere. Iranian magical folk tended to prefer living amongst the general population. Hermione found it impossible to keep her scarf on her head in the wind, so she took a leaf from the older witch's book and just wrapped it several times around her neck. "Worry about it when we land," she'd been told.

She gripped her drawstring bag, for lack of anything else to hold onto, and tried to keep her breakfast down. They made good time, flying above the beautiful landscape for hours. She cast several cooling charms along the way, receiving warm smiles from the other witch each time.

They stopped in Kilaneh for a rest and a lengthy meal, and then took to the skies again.

They were still a good way northwest of Hamadān when trouble arrived. Quint gave a shout and pointed off toward the northeast. A large dot in the sky eventually proved to be three dots flying close together. Whatever they were, they weren't Muggle, and they were zeroing in on the two carpets.

Kadriye pulled out her wand and shouted a spell. Peyami shouted the same and went invisible. Seeing this, Quint hit himself with a Disillusionment Charm as well.

Hermione pulled out her wand and gripped it. Kadriye picked up speed, unnerving Hermione since they were unable to see the other carpets.

The dots grew in size, and it became obvious they had wings. She squinted at them, trying to identify the creatures. From his shout, Peyami identified them first. "_Rok__h__!__"_

"What did he say?" Hermione shouted above the screaming wind.

Kadriye looked back over her shoulder and shouted, "We are in trouble!"

The carpet picked up speed.

Hermione saw that the creatures were still coming straight at them. "How can they see us?"

"This I do not know! Lay flat on the carpet!"

Hermione did as she was told but kept her wand aimed at the incoming creatures. Quint and Peyami came back into view, and she assumed by the way they took up positions between the women and the creatures, that Kadriye had as well.

Peyami flew close and the two Turks hollered at each other and then came to some sort of consensus.

"We cannot outrun them, so we must land!" Kadriye shouted back at her. "But we will try to fly as far as we can first! Without cover, we are not any safer on the ground!"

She banked the carpet and flew west. Hermione looked at the sprawling shadow that was Hamadān in the distance and saw it falling away. "Wouldn't it be better to head toward the city?"

"Peyami says that if the Muggles see the rokh, it will be more trouble for you for having caused so many Obliviates. I have to agree."

Hermione turned to look for somewhere else they could hide in the landscape below them but it was all rolling hills and farmland below. She tapped Kadriye's arm and pointed to where it looked like a river had carved a gully out of the surrounding hills. The older witch nodded and turned the carpet. Hermione looked back to see if the others were following and finally got a good look at what was chasing them. Her mouth went dry.

The beasts were enormous. They looked like eagles the size of Muggle jumbo jets—with talons that were easily three feet long—and they were gaining on them nearly as fast.

Hermione crawled forward on her belly and looked at the ground. The ravine wasn't coming up at them nearly fast enough.

A shadow blotted out the sun and she looked up to see a sky full of talons. The rokh screamed in triumph and Hermione rolled quickly. She heard the carpet tear but the monster missed. She grimaced and looked up again but its speed had carried it passed them. She lifted her wand, but froze when she realized Kadriye was no longer on the carpet. All that remained was a splash of blood. She looked down and realized the carpet was no longer flying; it was falling. She didn't make a sound.

It was her second-worst childhood nightmare come true, and she had the irrational thought that this was actually far worse than having McGonagall call her a failure.

She couldn't move. She couldn't yell. She hadn't bothered to learn how to control the thing because she'd depended on her guide. She was an utter idiot.

"Granger, god damn it!"

She opened her eyes and saw Quint keeping pace with her carpet, just a little to the side, and about three feet below. He'd obviously been trying to get her attention. He held his arm up to her and screamed, "JUMP!"

She blinked, thinking he had lost his mind, but then realized that if she was going to paste herself on the ground, she might as well do so trying to save herself. A gust of wind pushed his carpet out and up and he cursed a blue streak as he wrestled for control. Peyami appeared below them, looking up and gauging the widening gap between her carpet and Quint's. She got up on her knees, pocketing her wand, and then wobbled to her feet like the world's worse surfer. When a shadow fell across her again, she threw herself into the air.

She missed.

Jumping from a carpet was akin to trying to jump off a jelly. She landed on Peyami's carpet and bounced off. As she twisted in the wind, a hand grabbed her wrist, and she clung to it. Quint threw his carpet into a barrel roll and scooped her out of the air. She ended up wrapped around his back and shoulders like a vine.

From this vantage, she saw the first rokh. It was flying away with its catch at a leisurely pace. Hermione could see Kadriye's legs kicking.

"Quint! Go after that one!" She pointed.

"I will if you get the hell off me!" he screamed.

She belatedly realized she was smothering him.

She slid down onto the carpet with her knees on either side of Quint's hips. She kept a hand resting between his shoulder blades and looked around for Peyami. She saw him not far away, exploiting what looked like a vital weakness in the rokh's attack. If they missed, it took them a long time to circle back around.

She turned around and saw that Quint was closing the distance with the first monster. It seemed it was in no hurry now that it had its lunch.

"Faster! She could bleed out before we get there!"

"I'm on it!"

"Get right under its belly!"

Quint threw the carpet forward and Hermione stayed up by holding the back of his shirt in her fist. She pulled out her wand and rose into a crouch. As Quint directed the carpet up under the beast's belly from behind, Hermione rose up and jabbed her wand at it. "_Sectumsempra!_"

She cut the monster's stomach in a four-foot long line before it screamed and opened its claws. Quint had already grabbed the older witch's leg and Hermione grabbed at her chest as the rokh let go.

Kadriye dropped onto the carpet and groaned in pain. She was leaking blood from everywhere. Hermione immediately began healing her lesser cuts, but needed to perform a Diagnostic Spell before she would be able to treat the deep punctures in her chest. Instead, she hit the older witch with a Petrificus and said a small prayer to whoever was listening.

"Granger, we have a problem!"

"_Now _what?"

"This thing's only meant for one. Two is okay, but three's no good. We're too bloody slow now and those things will catch you. Listen to me. This is how you control it."

She realized what he was going to do. "No! That's an order! Peyami!"

"Granger! You're more important!"

"Shut up! _Peyami!_"

"Here, _bayam_ Granger! Jump again!"

She looked down and saw him below them. This time, she just stepped off into the air.

She slammed her jaw shut on his shoulder and saw stars. When she blinked them clear, she looked behind her. The other two monsters were catching up. She was in the middle of trying to decide if she should go on the offensive or try and make it to the ground, when the injured rokh's belly burst open. The other two screamed and turned on it. Like sharks, they tore their companion to pieces.

"Down! Get down there, fast!"

Peyami followed Quint down and together they flew into the ravine. "There!" the Turkish wizard yelled. A shallow cave appeared around a bend of jagged, sandstone cliff and they flew towards it.

As soon as Peyami touched down, Hermione was running toward the injured woman, already digging into her beaded bag.

:

When they had Kadriye resting comfortably, Quint lost it.

"What kind of stupid, buggering country doesn't allow bloody Apparition! Apparating is a god-given right!"

"Yes, that's why we hand out licenses," said Hermione as she checked the older woman's pulse for the tenth time.

"It's asinine!"

"Calm down, you're hysterical."

"No I'm not! I'm bloody furious is what I am. Hysterical is when you sit there like a lump and stare at the ground as you fall to your death!"

She winced. "Okay, I'll give you that. It wasn't one of my finer moments."

"And whose bloody idea was it to only take one person with them on this trip? You know what, Granger? You're terrible at this! Anyone with a brain would have brought more people!"

"Who else was I supposed to bring?" she snapped back.

Quint opened his mouth, but shut up again. They were heading into clandestine territory. Arguing in public about whom else they could have brought, when their group was supposed to be secret, was not the done thing.

She sat back on her heels and shook her head. "She'll make it, but she'd be better off in a hospital soon."

Peyami sat down by his aunt's side. "You saved her life," he said solemnly.

"Forget it. We're even. You saved me, and you bought us time by playing cat and mouse with those monsters. If you hadn't, we'd all be dead."

He eyed her for a long moment and then said. "It was my job. Saving my mother's sister wasn't your job."

Hermione looked back down at the woman lying on the carpet. "Yes, it was," she said quietly.

Peyami turned back toward his aunt.

"That was some pretty amazing flying," Quint said to him. "You have some stones."

The other wizard smiled. "I would not have done it if they had not been babies."

Hermione and Quint shared a look. "Babies?" Quint said in a hoarse voice. "Those were _babies?_ Oh, please don't tell me their mother's out there somewhere. I really don't want to hear they have a mother out there somewhere."

Peyami gave a sad laugh and then his face sobered. "No. These were far from their nest." He knelt down next to his aunt and closed his eyes.

"They were sent after us, weren't they?" Hermione swallowed and looked at Quint. "I was stupid," she said. "I used my own name when I booked the Portkey and then again when I arrived in Istanbul. Anyone could have sent them."

Quint picked up a pebble from the floor of the small cave and flung it at the wall. "Damn."

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><p>Thank you to all my reviewers.<p> 


	10. Chapter 10

**AN:** Warning. Attempt at Farsi ahead. Sincere apologies to the language. At least I didn't use Google Translate. O.o

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><p>Quint picked up the other carpet in one hand, grabbed Hermione's elbow by the other, and dragged her out of the cave.<p>

"Come on, Granger. Flying lessons."

She sighed and went with him.

He dropped the carpet on the floor of the ravine. "Get on."

She eyed him and put her hands on her hips.

"I'm not playing with you, Granger, and I'm not going to say please." He jabbed a finger at the sky. "You did some pretty courageous things up there, but you wouldn't have had to if you knew how to do this. I don't care how much you hate flying—yes, your friends told me, they told me a lot about you—but if I'm going to risk my neck to keep you alive, you can bloody well help _stay_ alive. Now, _get on the damned carpet._"

She sent him a petulant glare and stepped onto the carpet.

"Kneel."

She flashed her eyes at him as she crouched down. "Don't push it."

"Just do it, damn you!"

She jumped up. "That's enough! I let you vent your spleen, but I'm not about to—"

With no warning, he grabbed her and kissed her. Her first thought was that he was a much better kisser than Caleb. Her second was that she really hadn't been of a mind to be kissed. Her third was basically the first, but thought with more conviction. It really _was_ a nice kiss.

His hands gentled where they gripped her upper arms, and he pulled away with a quiet groan. He opened his eyes and looked at her.

"Doesn't anybody ask first anymore?" she huffed. He let go and scrubbed his hands through his golden curls. "I should punch you in the throat again," she added.

"I know," he said guiltily. "I wasn't really planning that."

She reached up and stroked her lip. "Your timing is atrocious."

He grimaced. "Yeah, I know that as well. I'm sorry. I just—you almost died—and then—you..." He flushed and then blew out a long breath. "You're pretty amazing, Granger. And it's hard to stay aloof. I don't know how Potter and Weasley do it."

Hermione giggled. "Aside from the fact that Harry only has eyes for his girlfriend, and Ron and I already proved we were oil and water, they knew me when I was bucktoothed and covered in fur. I wasn't particularly impressive then."

He smirked. "I think you were." His face grew serious. "Do I have a chance with you at all?"

She sighed. "Let me save the world first, and we'll see where we stand then, okay?"

He laughed and gestured to the carpet. "Sure. I'll just take a number and wait in the queue behind Lloyt and Krum."

She shook her head. "Well," she said, kneeling down on the front of the carpet. "You have one thing going for you that they don't."

"What's that," he said, kneeling down behind her.

"The prophecy said I would be betrayed by everyone. You, Harry, and Ron already got that part out of your system. Caleb and Viktor haven't."

When he didn't reply, she looked back over her shoulder. His jaw was clenched tight, the muscle jumped in his cheek. "You told Krum you were going to Iran, right?"

"Yeah."

"Didn't you cancel a date with him for Saturday?"

She nodded.

"Then there's a good chance he figured out you were heading off early."

Hermione's face fell. "I know. Nevertheless, I've known Viktor for a very, very long time. I don't think it was him."

"The prophecy said everyone would betray you."

"Yes, but as we already proved, not all betrayals are ill-intentioned. If Viktor were to betray me, it would probably be because he thought it would be for my own good as well. Sending winged death at me doesn't fit the bill."

He nodded. "If you don't mind, I would prefer to not trust him."

"Do what you must."

He nodded. "Now, let's do this." He pointed to the carpet before her. "You see those loops? You control the carpet by sliding a finger into them. You whisper, 'fly,' and then you control the carpet by the movements of your finger. Lift up, and the carpet goes up. Press down, and down it goes. Jerk your finger, and the carpet moves faster. Simple. Got it?"

"Do I say it in Turkish?"

"Nah. You can say it in pig Latin. It's the intent. You don't need magic. That's why so many Muggles had stories about them, and why the Persians got a bad rep for ignoring the Statutes of Secrecy. They've overcompensated now." He gestured. "C'mon then. Give it a go. We need to get Mrs. Yilmaz to a hospital, and we still have someone out there that knows we're here."

Hermione nodded and lifted her finger. The carpet rose steadily, if slowly. She cautiously began to maneuver it around the area, trying to avoid the golden sandstone cliffs. When she thought she had the feel of it, they returned to the cave.

"How did she do?" Peyami asked.

"She won't break any airspeed records, but she can steer," Quint said.

"We should go then," Peyami said. "We still have a long way to go."

Hermione collected the empty potions bottles and stuffed them in her bag, pulling the drawstring tight.

Quint looked at it. "That thing's seen better days."

"It's seen worse one's too," she said quietly. "Mount up."

:

They reached Esfahān at around eight at night. Peyami directed them down to the base of a crumbling pigeon tower and used hand gestures to tell her to fix her scarf. She'd completely forgotten about it. She tugged it off of her neck and draped it over her head. A quick knot under the chin, and she tossed the ends over her shoulders. She looked at him and he gave a sharp nod of approval. He lifted his aunt up into his arms, muttered for Quint to roll up the carpets and bring them, and together they set off down the road.

The smell of food filled the air and Hermione's stomach growled loudly. She stayed behind Peyami and held her wand tucked into the sleeve of her long coat. Quint brought up the rear, with the carpets on his shoulder and his wand gripped in his hand. There were several people out on the road, but no one saw them through the mild Notice-Me-Not that the older wizard had cast on them on the outskirts of the city. Instead, they had to dodge those passersby that were walking straight towards them.

Peyami led them across the street, through a car park, and up to what looked like the back door of a restaurant. He nodded, and Hermione stepped forward and knocked before stepping back.

The door opened and a sour-faced woman poked her head out. _"Salam."_

_"Salam,"_ Hermione said. _"Hal-e shoma che towreh, khanom?"_ (Hello. How are you, madam?)

_"Eh."_ (eh)

_"Lotfan. Bimarestan kojast?"_ (Please. Where is a hospital?)

The woman looked from one to the other and then gave Quint a long stare.

_"Shoma ahl-e koja hastid?"_ (Where are you from?)

_"Man ahl-e London hastam. Lotfan, Ajaleh daram. Inglissi mi-danid?"_ (I'm from London. Please, I'm in a hurry. Do you speak English?)

_"Baleh, kami."_ (Yes, a little)

_"Lotfan_—_please_, my aunt is hurt. She needs help."

The woman reached out and took Kadriye's limp hand and then dropped it again with seeming disinterest. _"Be-farma id too._" (Come this way)

_"Khayli mamnoon._" Hermione gestured and Peyami and Quint preceded her through the door. (Thank you, very much)

"She's a nasty piece of work," Quint muttered as he passed her.

"She speaks English, so guard what you say."

They followed the woman through the kitchen of a Muggle restaurant and over to a large, walk-in freezer. She pulled it open with a creepy smile and gestured.

The three of them entered and when the door was slammed behind them, Peyami and Quint started hollering. Hermione lit her wand and they all spun around at the sound of another door opening. The back of the freezer swung wide open and a smiling man greeted them with a pleasant face and large, sleepy eyes.

_"Salam."_

_"Salam. Bimarestan kojast?"_

"Oh, you are English!" He turned and saw Peyami holding his aunt. "Yes! Of course, right this way, we are not far from a Healer. Come, come. Watch your step."

They followed the man down several flights of twisting stairs. At one point, Hermione took the carpets, and Quint took Kadriye. The whole time the man leading them chattered away.

"I welcome you. I do hope that Gisou didn't scare you. She is what you call a Squib, in your country. It makes her hard. However, she is a good woman for all of that. Did you just arrive today? Yes? Then I welcome you. I do hope you had a pleasant journey here, but by the looks of your companion, perhaps not. This grieves me. We will get her help right away, you will see. We do not get many visitors from England. You are English, yes? I do not understand the difference between your English and your Welsh and all the rest. I do know the Scottish men wear short skirts. Very strange. Very strange. Nevertheless, we mustn't judge. Although we do. It is a weakness. You must be wondering why we are going down. That is easily explained. Wizarding Esfahan is in the oldest part of the city and the oldest parts are down. Now it all makes sense, _belah_?"

Quint rolled his eyes at the endless talking but kept his mouth shut as they came to a landing and the Iranian wizard opened a door. "Here is the hospital. Come. Not much further."

He called out and several people came running. Quint was relieved of his burden to much tutting and an endless list of questions about what had happened.

Hermione went with them to answer questions, and Quint trailed along behind, scrutinizing everything. Peyami went to find accommodations for the night.

:

Hermione and Quint had stuffed themselves on aubergine, lamb and rice and were still washing it down with tea when a tall man dressed in black trousers and a black coat with an insignia on the breast pocket walked into the waiting room. Hermione jumped up. "Is she going to be alright?"

The man looked at her with piercing eyes. "She will be fine. She will need a week's rest, but after that, she will be strong."

"Oh, I'm very grateful. I was very worried that we wouldn't get her here in time."

"I would like to know what happened to her," he said. "If you would be so kind."

Hermione looked up when Quint stood and walked a few feet away. She frowned at him, but he didn't take his eyes off the visitor.

"We were flying here from Kış Ağaçi, in Turkey when we were attacked by some young rokh. One of them snatched her off the carpet, but we killed it and got her away. Her deeper injuries were caused by its talons. I healed her smaller injuries and gave her Blood Replenisher, an Invigorating Draught, and a Lymph Stimulator to help with any infections. She spent probably six minutes Petrified, to keep her from bleeding to death."

"Save it," Quint said in a flat voice. "He's not a Healer." Quint's wand was in his hand, but still aimed at the floor.

Hermione blinked and looked back at the man.

"Your friend is correct. I am not a Healer."

"Who are you?"

"My name is Darius Abousaieedi, and I am what you would term an Auror. I assume your gentleman friend is one as well?"

"Yes."

"And you are?"

"A researcher. I came to see the library here."

He stared at her with eyes that were almost black, and they seemed to try and forcibly pull the truth out of her. She began to wonder if he wasn't related to Snape, but this man's hair was an unruly dark brown. "What are you researching?"

"I'm looking for older records of phenomena dealing with ley lines."

"Why?"

"Because I was asked to research it by my employer."

"And your name? If I may ask?"

"Jean Lovegood."

He gave her a smile. It wasn't a good one. "Your first lie."

She frowned and reached into her pocket, pulling out the gold ID card she'd been given. She handed it across to the man, and he looked at it, before flipping it over and giving the back a brief glance. He handed it back to her.

"My apologies. It was rude to ask an Unspeakable for their name. However, I already know yours, Miss Granger."

"How do you know who I am?"

"We were warned you were coming."

She blinked. "_Warned_?"

"By whom?" Quint demanded.

Mr. Abousaieedi gave Quint a long look as well. "We do not know. We were told if we did not hinder her research, the Muggle nuclear facility nearby would be tampered with and the local population would be endangered."

Hermione's breath blew out of her. "Dear god!" She swiped at her face. "And I had such hope." She groaned and shook her head. "We'll leave in the morning."

The Iranian wizard looked back at her. "There is no need. You are welcome to stay as long as you like."

She looked at him. "But all those people! The danger is too much."

"Whoever contacted us was not aware that the Muggle facility is far behind what the public thinks. The Muggle Government here likes to brag. It is not, in fact, fully operational. It is not any threat from magic. We have taken steps to ensure that. Your enemies know little about our culture. We are not a people that enjoy being told what to do by outsiders. We would be pleased to help you in any way we can."

She blinked. "Thank you."

He stood up, and she followed suit. "We have given you accommodations near the library. Your friend will be seen to and returned to Turkey when she is fully recovered." He turned to the door but stopped and turned back. "One of _our_ Unspeakables will meet with you in the morning to help you with your research. I will send someone to escort you to your rooms."

"Thank you," she said again.

"It was my pleasure, Miss Granger. I hope you find what you seek."

He left silence in his wake. She looked at Quint, and he just shook his head. "You're an Unspeakable? When did that happen?"

She let her shoulders slump. "I can't talk about it," she said with no small amount of misery.

He stared at her and then nodded. "Yesterday."

She sagged back onto the couch and nodded glumly.

He came and sat down next to her, elbowing her gently in the side. "It's not the end of the world." His voice was less than convincing.

She lifted her head and looked at him. "If I don't figure out what's going on, it could be."

He sighed. "There is that."

* * *

><p>:<p>

In other news. I seem to no longer be getting notifications from ff.n, and several people have said they are no longer getting chapter updates. I'm sure ff.n will figure out what's going on eventually. Maybe even by summer. *eyeroll*

Also: This story is set around 2003, so the status of the reactor outside of Esfahan reflects that time.


	11. Chapter 11

**AN**: FF.N seems to have decided it would start working again, so further down the rabbit hole we go!

* * *

><p>Hermione sifted through another stack of scrolls looking for her bottle of ink. Behind her, Farzeen Pourali bustled about looking for more scrolls with commentary about phenomena relating to time, ley lines, or with any luck, both.<p>

Three days of this and the two Unspeakables were unspeakably tired.

She dropped the stack. "Farzeen—"

"Here." He handed her the inkpot.

"Thank you."

"We've found nothing so far," he snapped. "Just bits and pieces and dribs and drabs."

She sat back. "I know."

Farzeen had been an upbeat, enthusiastic little man in his thirties, with a balding head and a perpetual smile when she'd met him. He spoke no English, but they'd taken to wearing brooches imbued with Translation Charms, so that wasn't a problem. After days of banging into scholastic walls, he had devolved into an impatient, surly, little gnome of a man, and she was convinced he was even more bald then he'd been three days before.

"We need food," she said.

"We need wine," he decided. "I will be right back."

He waddled off past diamond-shaped cubbies filled with scrolls and disappeared.

The library was incredible. Hermione could've spend her entire life there and never missed the sunlight. However, as much information as there was, there was nothing to tell her what she was looking for. The answer might be right in front of her, but she wouldn't know unless it jumped up and bit her.

She rubbed her nose and felt the oily slip of an ink smudge. She dropped her head back on her shoulders and groaned.

She looked for a towel and wiped her hands carefully before swiping it at her face. She didn't care about her face: she would die if she smeared ink on the scrolls. She looked around and suddenly wished Snape was there. Even if he had no more luck finding the answer than she did, his frustration was much more entertaining than hers.

Thinking of Snape made her think of Caleb and that went round and round in her head until she was dizzy.

Caleb had been a sexy distraction that had been on the verge of perhaps becoming more when he'd disappeared. She still didn't know what to feel. She'd been devastated by the very idea that he'd been hurt, and then sideswiped by the probability that he might not have been as squeaky clean as she'd thought. Could he be their killer? Snape would have her believe he was innately ignoble. However, Caleb held the same opinion of Snape. She snorted and shook her head. She would never have believed Caleb's opinion if Snape hadn't already preempted the revelation.

The idea of Snape being a bit of a man-whore amused her no end. It certainly was a complete turnaround from her belief that he'd lived this dreadfully tragic existence after Harry's mum had died. After she'd seen the memories he'd left for Harry, she'd had it in her head that it simply wasn't possible for the man to get over that kind of grief.

Having him slap her on the arse and tell her she had nice tits two weeks later had been a bit of a shock. She wondered for the umpty-umpth time who Gertie was.

She remembered her kiss with Caleb, and again, couldn't help but compare it to her kiss with Quint. Hands down, Quint was the better kisser, but she couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was about it that was better. She'd had the hots for Caleb for months, and yet when he'd kissed her, it had only been 'nice.' She'd little attraction to Quint, other than admiration for his determination, and yet when he'd kissed her, her hair had stood on end. She wondered what it would be like if she could squish the two men together and then kiss the result.

She stuck the end of her stylus into her mouth and bit it, pondering what it would be like to kiss Snape. She wondered if she would ever have the courage to find out. After the way he'd nearly shagged her with just his eyes, the man scared the pants off her. His ability to go from sneering irritation to full on sensual onslaught at the drop of a hat was a little too overwhelming. She thought there was a good chance that if Snape seriously took it into his head to kiss her, there would be little of her left when he was done.

She smirked. _But what a hell of a way to go_, she thought to herself._ If your thing was man-whores_.

Of course, it was useless conjecture. Any cobbled-together interest Snape might have had in her most likely evaporated with Caleb's disappearance. However, if he _was_ still interested, it would make for an interesting diversion from the fact that her prophecy basically said she would fail.

Hermione shook her head. The world's fate hung on her, and she was sitting there wondering what Snape was like in bed.

She heard a rush of footsteps and turned toward the door in time to see Farzeen racing back into the room. "I am the most foolish son of a most foolish man!"

"You forgot the wine."

"I forgot my head!"

She slipped off her stool and followed him to the back of the stacks. "What is it?"

He looked up at her. "You said it when you explained it to me. I heard it when you said it. But then we both got tiny eyes and could only see a little bit!"

"Farzeen, speak slower, the translation charm is making you sound like you're demented."

He blew out a breath and looked at her. "No. This is me making me sound demented." He rested an elbow on a cubby and looked at her. "We are looking for phenomena, yes? Yes. We are looking for strange happenings with ley lines. We are looking for evidence of time portals, yes? But really we have no idea what we are looking for. We are like blind men creeping along without their canes, hoping to trip over the stylus they dropped. Why are we not looking for the one thing we do know about?"

"What do you mean?" she said, her heart racing.

"I am walking to get wine, yes? And there is one wine I love very much. And I am wondering to myself, where does this wine come from? Because I cannot remember. It is amber in color and tastes like cherries, yes? And then it hits me, as it always does, where does everything come from? This is always the most important thought to me. I am always almost able to answer this thought. But then it hit me in the head, and I came running back! And now I am here!"

"Farzeen, I've been known to punch people who get on my nerves."

He blinked. "Violence is a shabby answer, Hermione. Only the weak use it."

She gritted her teeth. "I'm getting weaker by the second."

He huffed. "You have found out one thing since you began looking, yes?"

"I haven't found anything. We've been looking at the scrolls for days!"

"Not here, before you came."

She stopped and tilted her head to the side. "Chronominium. I found out what that was."

"What is it?"

"The sand they use in the time-turners."

"Yes, but what is this sand? Do I take sand and put it in a little bottle and call it Chronominium? If that were true, Iran would be shoulder deep in Time-turners, and knowing my people's penchant for playing with gadgets, we would all be a thousand years old before we left our fathers' homes." He looked at her. "The last of the time-turners were in England. This is known. There are no more. They were all destroyed by children. Such wretched children, may they burn in hell."

"Um, Farzeen…"

"Do not interrupt. This was my thought that made me come running. Where does this Chronominium come from? Why are we not looking for this answer? It is a question we know how to ask!"

He turned back to the cubby and started looking at the words printed on the ends of the spools. When he found one he liked, he pulled it and handed it back over his shoulder to her.

Within twenty minutes, they had ten scrolls each. They hurried back to their reading tables and dumped them in a pile.

"_Now_, we begin," he said with conviction.

Hermione smiled at him and began unraveling a scroll, whispering a Translation Charm and watching the Persian script uncurl itself and turn into the far less graceful English block print.

They found it on day two.

_"…and the sands are the remnants of the mighty struggle between Ahura Mazda and Angra Mainyu, when the Saoshyant held the Crystal of Time. However, Ahriman caused the Saoshyant to be weak and she failed to bring about the final renovation of the world. The result was but a small renovation, and only a few of the dead were brought back to life when the Saoshyant returned to save her golden son. The Crystal shattered and turned to dust, but rather than be sorrowful, Ahura Mazda blessed the world with the ability to go back and do more good deeds by using the sand wisely. The earth will give birth to another Crystal, and another, until the Saoshyant comes who will triumph and renew the world and let all the dead live again. But Angra Mainyu will forever be causing __achistem manah and so the struggle continues.__"_

"Farzeen." Hermione's throat was barely a whisper.

"Hold on. I am busy."

"Farzeen, I found it."

"Yes, but I think I am on to something very interesting, and if I stop—What do you mean, 'found it'?"

"I found the Crystal of Time. The thing mentioned in my prophecy…"

She turned, her hands shaking, and held out the scroll with both hands. Farzeen took it gently and cancelled her Translation Charm. He sat down on his stool while she folded her hands in her lap and watched him read with her lip jammed between her teeth.

:

"Yes, but _achistem manah_ is already manifest, so they knew even then that there would be evil men that would seek the Crystal. It means 'worst thinking,' but not like being stupid. It means being motivated by destructive or malign thoughts. Hatred. Evil. The Saoshyant, roughly translated to mean a messiah, wasn't evil, she was foolish, and she did it for love of her child."

Farzeen sat back and drank his wine. "This is enjoyable, but irrelevant. All this talk about the struggle between Ahura Mazda and Angra Mainyu is just… smoke and mirrors. This scroll dates from only two thousand years ago. Three thousand years after Zoroaster walked the earth, by oldest estimates. We must get to the facts, because the mythology in this was designed to blind the foolish.

"So, what did we learn? The Crystal is a natural phenomenon that arrives periodically and can control time. If it has arrived in recent history, the facts have been systematically eradicated for some reason. I believe it is because if someone unworthy gets a hold of this Crystal, they can erase history, and destroy creation. And if your burps, such a dreadful term, are known to presage this event, then it is possible that they can be used to predict when, and even where, the next Crystal will appear."

Hermione nodded. It was easy to do, she was drunk. She hadn't eaten a decent meal in two days and Farzeen's amber-colored wine was very, very good. Wherever it came from.

"However," he continued. "We, by that I mean my ancestors, preserved this information by hiding it in false religious tales. This entire passage is not part of the Yasna. It is a very clever lie." He looked at her. "I suspect if there is more information out there somewhere, it will be hidden in a similar fashion.

"You have done well, Hermione."

She shook her head. "No, you did well. That seems to be the way I roll. I get other people whipped up, and they find the answers for me. I don't know how I feel about that." She took another sip of wine and then jabbed her glass at him. "You said you had found something interesting. Just before I interrupted you with my discovery."

"I did? I did!" He set his glass down and turned toward the table, shifting scrolls around. "Here. Listen to this—" He cleared his throat. " 'And the knowledge will be too much for man's fragile heart, and so it shall pass onto the water singer.' "

He looked up and beamed at her.

"What knowledge?" she asked

"I haven't found out yet. It was in another passage relating to mysterious disappearances of artifacts. I was looking into why there were so few time-turners left. It would seem there is no more Chronomium. No one can manipulate time anymore. No more going back to do a few good deeds for Ahura Mazda."

Hermione nodded. "That would explain why they shut the Time Chamber in our Ministry."

"Curse those foolish children!"

"Farzeen…"

"Hmm?"

"I was one of those children," she said quietly. "I'm very sorry," she added.

He blinked. "You were?"

She nodded. "Dark Wizards were trying to kill us. We were running for our lives. Lots of things were broken that day." She grew quiet. "Including people."

He was silent for a long moment. "I am sorry, my friend. It sounds like you lost far more that day than I did. I should have held my tongue."

She shrugged. "It is a friend's pain, more than mine. He lost the last of his family."

Farzeen shook his head. "It sounds as if he still has a bit of family in you. Hearts grow wide so that families can get big."

She smiled, nodding. The urge to keep nodding was too strong. "I need to sleep." She pushed off her stool and set her glass down. "Tomorrow, we figure out how to find this Crystal of Time."

Farzeen turned back to his table. "I have a theory about that. I will stay a bit longer."

"Oh?"

"I think I know how to find it."

She made to sit back down but he stood up and waved his hands. "Go. You need sleep, a meal, and, if I may be permitted a liberty, a bath would help."

She nodded and headed for the door. "I want you to think about something else tonight as well," she said.

"What?"

"Coming back to London with me. I need minds like yours. It would be a great adventure, yes?"

He beamed at her. "Yes. That it would."

She waved at him and then turned and smacked her head on an oil lamp hanging from the ceiling. "Oops."

She steadied herself and went to find the exit as Farzeen chuckled behind her.

:

There was a knock on her door at three in the morning. Hermione woke up disoriented by insufficient sleep and an aching head. The knock came again and this time, it brought a sense of dread that settled on her like a weighted net. She pulled her wand out from under her pillow and called out, "Yes?"

"Granger, are you decent?"

She sat up and threw on her dressing gown. "Come in."

Quint came through the door looking years older.

She swallowed thickly and asked, "Who?"

"Farzeen Pourali." He walked over to the bed when she started to cry. He sat down and pulled her against his thick shoulder. "Mr. Abousaieedi is outside. He has some questions for you, if you're up to it."

Hermione nodded and swiped at her eyes with her sleeve. "I'll dress." He stood up and headed towards the door. "Quint?"

"Yeah?"

"How? How did he die?"

She could tell he was gauging how much to say.

"Tell me. That's an order."

He closed his eyes and sighed. "Someone tortured him and tried to get him to talk. It would seem that forcing an Unspeakable to speak is—"

"Fatal," she finished. She turned away from the door. "I will be out in a moment."

When she heard the door shut, she collapsed into a tight ball and sobbed.

* * *

><p>Hermione rode behind Quint all the way back to Turkey. They had left Kadriye with many hugs, some small gifts, and much fussing, and the three of them, she, Quint, and Peyami, made the trip unmolested. The contingent of Iranian Aurors flying around them was still a comfort.<p>

They were over Lake Urmia when Hermione waved her hand. One of the Aurors pulled out her wand and Evanescoed Peyami's carpet out of existence. He fell with a scream, and Quint gave a shout of surprise.

"Keep flying," Hermione said in a dead voice.

She watched Peyami fall all the way down and disappear with a tiny white splash in the huge salt lake.

The Iranian Aurors didn't blink an eye, and turned back without a word at the Turkish border.

It took twenty minutes before Quint spoke.

"Are you going to explain?" he asked when they'd landed.

"It was him," she said.

"I gathered that. How did you find out?"

"Abousaieedi positively identified him from a custodian's memory in a pensive. He was seen slipping into the library last night. He killed Farzeen and burned all the scrolls we'd pulled out all week." She shook her head and bent down to roll up their carpet.

"You could have questioned him."

"Turkish men don't talk. Kadriye said he would die before he answered. She said that his fate was sealed when she was hurt. His family would never forgive him, and he would only become more loyal to whoever hired him to stop us." She shrugged. "This was her suggestion. He knew too much. We'd hoped whoever he was working with would pull something on the way home, but I got sick of watching him smile at me."

Quint went to hug her but she stepped back. "Don't." She handed him the rug and fished out the portkey back to Istanbul. "I don't want to feel better."

She held out the plastic lid from some forgotten container, and when Quint grabbed it, she tapped it with her wand and whispered, "_Portus_."

* * *

><p>:<p>

...and there you go.


	12. Chapter 12

**AN**: Creeping up on the moment you've all been waiting for...

* * *

><p>Hermione sat and listened as Quint gave the report on their trip to Iran. They were in the sitting room of Grimmauld Place. Ron and Quint sat on the settee by the bookcase, and Harry paced the floor, as usual. Madam Worple sat, silent as the grave on the couch, with Urban Philips next to her. Snape sat in a chair by the door diagonally across from her chair by the fire. He held his arms folded high across his chest and tapped at his upper arm with one finger. She couldn't tell if he was impatient to be gone, or impatient for Quint to say something relevant. Listening to the standard Auror recitation of just the facts, the whole trip seemed nearly pointless.<p>

She could tell by the looks Harry and Ron were giving her that they were worried about her. She'd been uncommunicative since she'd returned and knew that Quint had probably given them the long version of events in private before the meeting had started. She'd been avoiding them since she'd returned. She knew she wasn't being rational, but she couldn't bring herself to talk to them about it.

It hurt too much. She was too frightened. She carried too much guilt and had made too many mistakes.

It was better to stay numb.

"The Turkish Aurors in Istanbul are looking into his associates," said Quint, "but they said they weren't holding out much hope that they would find anything conclusive. They'll be forwarding anything they find. Personally, it's my belief that when Hermione saved his aunt, he decided to not harm her directly. However, he obviously wanted to know what she'd discovered, and eliminate anyone else's chance of finding out for themselves. We have no idea who he was working for, but I doubt he was working alone. However sent the threat to the Iranians didn't understand their culture. Celikoglu did."

When Quint fell silent, Ron spoke. "So did you find out anything before this…" he looked down at his notes, "Peyami Celikoglu destroyed the scrolls you needed?"

"Yes," Hermione said, nodding at Quint. "I now know what the Crystal of Time is."

Snape and Madam Worple both looked up with sharp interest. Philips looked intrigued, and Harry, Ron and Quint simply waited. The Aurors weren't really interested in magical phenomena; just the parts where people killed each other over them.

Hermione made a show of riffling through her notes. "Basically, it's a naturally occurring phenomenon, cyclically repeating at an unknown rate. The only documentation that we found was dated around the early first century. It failed to give much detail as to how to find it, or even detect it, but it did explain what it is capable of and why everyone would want it."

Snape leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his thighs. "What does it do?"

"Controls time, obviously. But more than that, it can destroy time as well. Whoever controls the crystal can go back in time an hour or two, a year or two, or millennium or two. There is no limit. They can go back to the beginning and restart the entire world, perhaps even the universe, or they can move forward and jumpstart the end of things. Basically, it can either be a reset button for creation, or an off switch." She looked down at her notes. "There's more, I have instructions on how to use it, but that's not pertinent at the moment." She rolled up her notes and clenched her fist around them, before looking at the others.

There was a moment of silence as they each digested what she'd said.

"Some of that is conjecture extrapolated from the mythological wording, but Farzeen and I concurred that this was the most likely interpretation of the passage."

She gripped her notes, struggling with the memory of the furious debates, frenzied research and jubilant celebration resulting in too much wine on an empty stomach.

"The other thing we know for sure it that the Crystal of Time is the source of Chronominium."

"And that is?" asked Philips.

"The sand inside a Time-turner."

He nodded and sat back. "And you say it is a naturally occurring phenomenon?"

"Yes, although I have no more information than that. The line was, 'And the earth shall give birth to another Crystal, and another, until the savior comes who will renew the world…' "

Philips frowned. "That doesn't sound like a dependable source; it sounds like some religious tract."

"It was intentionally disguised as such. It was how they kept the knowledge hidden. The magical folk of Iran don't separate themselves from the Muggles like we do. They live among them, work among them and freely intermarry with them. This leads to some extreme measures to ensure they are not detected. Iranians are nothing, if not observant. Therefore, they have developed a unique ability to hide things in plain sight extremely well. They hid the fact they knew about the crystal in a false bit of Zoroastrian mythology that was easily shunted off to the side as irrelevant, but thankfully for us, was filed in with other references to artifacts relating to time. Most likely as a bit of odd trivia."

Philips nodded his head, so did the Unspeakable.

"So we know what we are looking for, but we have no idea where to look," Philips said in a thoughtful voice.

Hermione rolled and unrolled the papers in her hands. "My colleague in Iran said he had an idea about how to find it, but he died before he could tell me what it was."

"I have an idea or two, myself."

Hermione looked at him. "Oh?"

"Interruptions in the ley lines aren't unheard of. Just not common. There are almost always caused by natural events such as a brooding dragon, or your rokhs. This is because they are actually siphoning the magic, causing empty pockets in the areas surrounding them. It's completely possible that the formation of an artifact of this magnitude would create a series of pulsating disturbances. These empty pulses, or burps, could then be pushed away from the source by the next surge of magical energy. That would explain why they travel the lines."

"Like air in a brake line," said Harry with excitement. He looked around at the blank faces and colored. "Sorry. Go on."

"As I was saying," continued Philips in a frosty tone. "If this crystal is, as you say, a naturally occurring phenomenon, and it is, in its own way, birthing. It only seems logical that it is, like dragons, siphoning magic."

"And that's how we find it," said Ron. "Brilliant."

"What's brilliant?" asked Quint.

Ron gave him a look of impatience. "If we can figure out which way the _events_ are traveling on the ley lines, we can project them backwards to their source."

"It's not that simple." Philips interjected. "The ley lines aren't a clear cut grid. However, if we get help from our field agents around the globe, we can triangulate with a limited amount of reliability."

Hermione sat back as they began coming up with a strategy on how to do exactly that. It was progress. It left her feeling both relieved and hollow. The closer she came to answers, the closer she came to failing. The longer it took her to get those answers, the more people died. Innocent people. People she cared about.

She looked at Harry. This was what he'd lived with for years. No wonder he'd come so close to losing it in sixth year. No wonder he'd hated Snape with such irrational desperation. One needs something to hate, because hating the universe didn't give enough satisfaction.

Harry turned to her, feeling her stare, and she flinched away from the understanding he saw. He knew. Did he recognize the look in her eye? He knew she felt each death like a blow. He probably even knew she didn't feel anything yet about Peyami's death.

She looked over at Ron. He was in his element, discussing strategy and tactics. For the first time he was interested in the cause, and not the result. She sighed. Why couldn't she have loved him just a little bit more? He was so warm and caring and fiercely intelligent, when you managed to engage his intellect. She shook her head. Probably for the same reasons he couldn't find it in him to love her enough either. It was so odd. They loved each other with fierce devotion, just not with a passion.

She turned and looked at Snape again. He was sitting back now, with one long leg crossed over the other. He added nothing to the conversation, but missed nothing either. You could see the way his mind worked behind those dark eyes. The way his brows swept down almost regally, pinching the line between his eyes.

What a queer man.

His skin was an unhealthy pallor, his nose a spectacular beak. His lips… She blinked. His lips were oddly sensual. She'd never really noticed it before. Well, when would she have? When he'd been her nightmare-inducing teacher? She stared at his lips, the top overshadowing the lower lip just slightly. He had a narrow jaw that angled down to a slightly sharp chin.

She felt a warmth and a slight light-headedness flow over her as she realized how extremely desirable she found him. Their odd flirtation in the reading room had been nothing more than her perverse desire to discomfit him being thrown back in her face ten-fold. She was sure that his spectacular response had been a well-played example of how quickly he could put her in her place. It hadn't been serious. He'd been toying with her, and then used the chance to take a swipe at Caleb as a bonus. She knew this. Nevertheless, it had left her with a seed that had certainly taken root.

She slid her gaze up to his eyes and wasn't surprised to find him looking at her. If Harry had felt her attention, Snape could hardly have missed it. She didn't react; instead she simply continued to look at him clearly for the first time as a potential lover.

He was slim to the point of gauntness. If she didn't have years' worth of memories of him storming through the castle, it would be easy to think him frail. Boney, she thought. Under all those yards of black fabric was a boney man.

She met his eyes again, and he stared back at her with no expression—no sardonic sneer, no judgment, or even discomfort… He just stared at her with a placid, patient look on his face, as if her scrutiny was perfectly customary.

She could see it now.

When she'd first heard he had a tendency to sleep around, her reaction had been to think that was a strange choice for the women involved. Now she realized it wasn't. Snape wasn't handsome. He was compelling. Mysterious. Closed off, and yet, projecting an air that perhaps, just perhaps, there was a chance to see him open up.

That was it.

He projected the slightest hint of vulnerability, just a ghost of a suggestion, that sucked a woman in.

She wondered if it was an act, or had she'd finally found the residue of Lily Evans. She remembered, again, the image of his grief at the loss of his childhood friend and flinched away from it.

"I need more people," she said suddenly, interrupting whatever was being said.

The room fell silent.

"Quint concurs. If we'd had more people in Iran, we could have had a better chance of preserving the knowledge we needed. There were half a dozen other texts we never had a chance to read. If I can't have Harry and Ron, I need others just as reliable."

"Who?" asked Ron.

"Viktor, for a start," she replied.

"I don't like that choice," Quint said.

"Why?" Harry asked.

Quint sat back. "She's to be betrayed. That's what the prophecy said. The more people involved, the more chance for betrayal."

Hermione sighed. "There's no escaping it, just as there's no escaping the fact that I will ultimately fail. Until then, we have a mystery to solve, and I need more people to do it. If you don't like Viktor, find me others. Get back to me with your answers." She stood up and shoved her notes into the hip pocket of her robes.

"Where are you going?" Ron asked.

"I have a headache. I'm going to put on some tea."

She left them as they began to toss names around.

:

She stood and stared at the kettle waiting for it to boil. Her nerves were frayed to the snapping point. There were other things to discuss tonight, but she didn't have the patience anymore. She felt restless and angry and… trapped… just as Harry had said.

The kettle started to rumble, and she turned to find the teapot. "Jesus! You startled me!"

Snape lifted an eyebrow. He'd been standing right behind her. "I came to offer you this." He held up a small vial of Headache Remedy. "I never come to this house without it."

She reached out and plucked it from his hand. "Thank you," she whispered. He was too close, and the price of air seemed dear.

His eyes began to spark from within. "If you desire anything else from me, you need only ask," he said.

She stopped breathing. Well. That was rather unambiguous. But what did it mean in the long run? What would be the consequences? She looked into his eyes and saw only sincerity and thinly veiled interest. She had the sense that taking him up on his offer or declining it carried the same weight with him. There was no pressure.

She turned to the teapot, filled it with boiling water, and swished it. "People who stand too close to me have developed an unfortunate tendency to die lately," she said in a quiet voice, dumping the pot into the sink.

"Any one of us could die tomorrow. It's something I gave up fearing long ago," he said quietly.

She dropped some bags into the pot and turned back to him. "I want to not care," she said in a low voice, willing him to understand what she was saying.

He did. For the first time since she'd turned around to find him looming over her, his eyes left her face. They traveled down the front of her tailored robes and back again, leaving fire in their wake. "Caring has never been a requirement of mine."

She swallowed. "Can you still make me feel, even if I don't care?"

He lifted a hand and brought it to her face. Without actually touching her, he brushed aside a curl that had escaped her bun. Whatever filter he'd been using to mute his desire fell away, and his eyes ignited. They burned her as he said, "I guarantee it."

It felt as if her insides liquefied, and she swayed on her feet as the sound of heavy footsteps entered the kitchen.

"Granger, Ron's brought some more people—Oh, hello." She flicked her eyes over to Quint, who was standing near the door with his eyebrows raised. "We'll need more tea. We have more people."

She glanced back at the boiling kettle. "See to it then," she said. She looked at Snape. "We'll continue this later."

She left the kitchen to go and see who they'd dug up, thumbing the top off the vial in her hand. As she came around the corner, she bumped into Madam Worple and almost choked on the potion.

"I'm terribly sorry, my head was in the clouds," the woman said, steadying her and patting her on the back.

"My fault. I wasn't looking where I was going," Hermione reassured her.

"I was coming to tell you we have a few more people and to see if I could help with the tea."

Hermione gestured behind her. "I left Quint to deal with it. I'm sure he could use a spare hand."

Both women shifted to the side as Snape slid past them on the narrow stairs with a murmured, "Excuse me," and headed up.

She left the older woman to it and headed after him. There was a bit of a crush in the doorway, and she had to squeeze past Snape, Philips, and Harry to get into the room.

When she saw Arthur, George, Ginny, and Bill she smiled. When the Floo activated again and Neville Longbottom stepped out, she grinned. When she found that her notes were no longer in her hip pocket, her smile became a brittle, tragic thing that she refused to explain.

* * *

><p>:<p>

Just creeping, mind.

Busy day will be busy, so there's little chance of review replies today, however, I thank each and every one of you for your wonderful enthusiasm and for taking the time to let me know what you think.


	13. Chapter 13

**AN**: The word for the day is: _Anticipation_…

* * *

><p>Hermione stepped out of the Floo into her sitting room and cursed up a storm. It had been a long night. Her happiness at having the team of people she trusted expand to twice the size had quickly been overshadowed by the fact that someone had fallen for her lie and stolen her notes.<p>

She'd told them she had instructions on how to use the Crystal of Time, but in fact, she didn't have a clue. They hadn't found anything of the kind. Hermione had come up with her own fraudulent instructions and then thrown the bait out into the room to see where it landed.

It had been Quint's idea, and it had been a good one. He'd wanted to force the hand of the next person that would betray her and eliminate them from the equation. He'd even given her the charmed paper to write on and taught her the charm used to track it. When he'd come in with the tea tray, followed by Madam Worple, Hermione had given him the prearranged signal. She'd watched the muscle in his cheek jump for the rest of the night. The plan was for him to wait and follow the traitor and find out who their associates were.

She kicked off her shoes. There were three people that it could have been: Snape, Worple, and Philips. Snape could easily have snatched them while she'd been staring at the kettle lost in thought, either Snape, or Worple, could have taken them on the stairs, and she'd squeezed between Snape, Philips, and Harry to get into the sitting room. She knew it wasn't Harry, he'd overheard them planning. Besides, he was _Harry_.

She sighed heavily. She would have preferred to not have been betrayed at all, but that didn't seem to be in the cards.

She looked around her home and saw her plants were gasping, the Muggle post had accumulated into a messy pile on the doormat, and she'd forgotten to Vanish the rubbish before she'd left, so the air wasn't just stale, it was rank.

She took care of the rubbish first and opened a few windows. Gathering up her post, she started flipping through it on her way to fetch her watering can. She found a letter from her parents in Australia, a few bills, and an entire tree's worth of junk mail. She dropped the junk onto the table and began sorting the bills. A white envelope she'd missed slipped out of the sales flyers and onto the floor. She bent down to pick it up and frowned. Her address had been written by hand with a biro, but she didn't recognize the handwriting. It had no return address, but the Muggle postmark was from Toledo, Spain. She ripped the envelope open and found a postcard inside. The picture was of the entrance to a cathedral, old and weathered, but still a magnificent example of gothic architecture for all that. The text said, '_Catedral Primada Santa María de Toledo.'_ She flipped it over and _did_ recognize the handwriting on the back. Her hair seemed to stand on end. It was Caleb's. She read the text.

_Miss you. Wish you were here. _

There was nothing else but the date. She blinked. It was dated June 1st. Today was May 27th. She sat down at the table and picked up the envelope, looking at the postmark again. It had most likely arrived through her letterbox two days ago.

She read the message on the back again, and shook her head. Obviously, he wanted her to meet him. The question was… _why?_

She threw the postcard down on the table and went to water her plants.

When she'd changed for bed, she headed back out into the sitting room and started closing the windows.

She turned when her Floo activated and watched as her fireplace erupted with green flames. She stood there for a moment, expectantly, and when no one came through or called, she pulled her wand out. The green flames crackled ominously as she approached them.

It would be no effort at all to shut them out and block her Floo connection, but curiosity got the better of her. She slowly sank down and peered into the flames, ready to lash out with a hex.

What she saw made her breath rush out.

Oh.

Unfinished business then.

She sat back on her heels and closed her eyes. She could feel the thousand and one ways this could complicate things pushing her away from the flames. She opened them and stared through the fire at the familiar sitting room beyond. In a moment of rare selfishness, she leaned forward and stepped into the flames.

Snape held his hand out to help her to her feet. She didn't take it.

When she'd dusted herself off, she straightened and looked at him. He was still dressed in his usual robes. He hadn't so much as popped a top button or rolled up a sleeve. She didn't say anything, and he didn't either. He simply gazed into her eyes with more patience than she'd ever seen him display before.

She lifted her wand and cast the Detection Charm. The weak light that pulsed from the tip told her that her notes were nowhere in Scotland.

He tilted his head. "Lost something?"

"In a way."

"Your notes?"

She nodded.

He gestured toward her wand with the full glass of wine in his hand. "That doesn't clear me. I could have read them and put them back in your pocket at any point tonight."

"Did you?"

He shook his head. "No. It was a clumsy lie. If you did learn how to use it, I think it would be highly unlikely that you would have announced that fact to everyone. Whoever took them is far more gullible or far more filled with hubris than I'm capable of being."

She nodded and slid her wand back into her sleeve. He lifted his hand and held it out to her again. She swallowed before placing her own in it. It was warm and very soft. His fingers closed over hers as gently as capturing a butterfly. She looked up, but he was already moving, leading her away from the fireplace as he took another sip of his wine.

When he reached his bedroom door, he stopped and looked at her again with a soft, gentle patience that told her she could just as easily leave again with no consequence. He let go of her hand.

She hesitated.

"Will you betray me, Severus?"

He didn't react, other than for his eyes to grow less gentle. Brittle. "Name someone I haven't already betrayed…"

She nodded. It was an answer of a sort. Abruptly tired of wondering, worrying, and doubting everything about herself, she gave him a smile and walked past him into the bedroom.

She came to a stop two feet away from the bed, unsure of what to do. She'd never had a pity shag before. Casual sex wasn't really her thing. Tonight, after all the insanity of the past few weeks, all the deaths, and all the terror, it was all she wanted.

His hand settled on her shoulder and pulled her back against his chest. She hadn't heard him cross the room. She twisted her head back for a kiss, but instead, his other hand held the wine glass to her lips. She drank, and when the ruby liquid dribbled from the corner of her mouth, he swiped it away with his ring-finger. She heard the wet smack of his lips as he licked his finger and felt herself begin to burn.

His hand came back, and he handed her the glass. She took another sip as his fingers pulled the pins from her hair. She heard them plip onto the floor and then his strong hands began to loosen her bun, massaging her scalp. She took another sip and let her head drop forward, as his hands worked their way down to her neck.

Oh, god.

He hadn't done anything yet, and she was already in heaven.

He stroked her shoulders, pulling her back against him and pressing his cheek against her hair. She could hear his deep breaths, and the effect they had on her was electric. His fingertips stroked her neck gently as his other hand came around and pulled at the tie of her dressing gown. When it was undone, he slid his hands under the collar and slowly pulled it from her shoulders, letting it drop and pool around her elbows as she held the wine. He reached out and took the glass from her hand, and she heard him swallow in her ear.

Gods. She was done. All she wanted was to leap into bed and get to the down and dirty, but she knew he was only just warming up.

He handed the glass back and began nuzzling his nose along her shoulder, nibbling at her skin with wine-wet lips. She turned her head, hoping for a kiss, but his attention was focused elsewhere. His fingers toyed at the straps of the camisole-top of her pajamas, and she shuddered as he tugged them down. Curling his fingers, he stroked the back of his knuckles along her collarbone, catching the lace on the front of her top. One hand spread along the side of her neck and pulled her against him as the other stripped the cloth from her breasts. She groaned and let her head drop back onto him.

She felt his chest push against her as he sucked in a deep breath through his nose. Her own breath rushed out as he cupped her with his hands. He massaged her, caressed her, and began gently plucking at her, building her up to near-frenzy, all while she stood there holding the bloody glass of wine in her hands.

She was to the point of shaking when he took the glass and brought it to her lips again. She took another, longer swallow. When he pulled it away, he stepped around her, keeping one hand on the small of her back, and set the glass down next to the bed. He straightened and pulled her close. Oh, Christ. The look in his eyes was one for the books. She gasped as he leaned down, bending her back over his arm slightly as he captured a nipple in his mouth.

She pulled her arms out of the sleeves of her dressing gown and the straps of her top, hearing her wand fall to the floor. She slipped her fingers into his hair, gripping his scalp and massaging it. He kissed her lower and lower, pulling and pushing the bunched-up camisole so as to not miss and inch of skin. She was panting by the time his fingers began pulling her pajama bottoms down her legs. They dropped to the floor, and he steadied her so she could step out if them. He knelt in a pool of black as he stroked his hands down the backs of her thighs. When he looked up at her, her mouth went dry at the open lust on his face. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss against her mound, nudging her legs apart.

She was shaking; her insides had turned to liquid and her legs to jelly within moments. The softest groan escaped him as he pleasured her, and she cried out. "I can't stand. My legs are useless… Please," she begged in a hoarse whisper.

He pulled away and stood in a rush, grabbing her bunched up camisole and pulling it over her head. He guided her to the bed and sat her on the edge before he began to casually tear at his clothes. His robes were dumped into a heap, and he only undid the cuffs and top few buttons on his shirt before reaching back and pulling it off his head.

He was as skinny as she'd imagined him, his collar and shoulder bones jutting out sharply from his body. He had a few sparse, black hairs over his sternum, and around his nipples, and a thicker, tantalizing trail from his navel down into the top of his trousers. His hip bones curved up out of those trousers, offsetting a narrow waist and flat belly. It wouldn't have made a difference if he'd been skeletal. At that moment in time, he was the most gorgeous man on earth. He was the _only_ man on earth.

She slid back on the bed to give him room, but he lunged forward as soon as he got his boots off and grabbed her by the hips. He bent over the edge of the bed and pulled her toward him until he could bury his face between her legs again.

She dropped back onto the bed and moaned, threading her fingers back into his hair and caressing the incredibly soft skin of his back with her feet.

She began smoothing his long, black hair over the curve of his scalp and against her thigh as her climax danced closer. He folded one of her legs up, but she continued to stroke the other against his back, eventually tucking her big toe into the waistband of his trousers. When she began to gently buck her hips, he groaned, sending even more pleasure vibrating through her core.

"Oh, please," she whispered. "I'm so close."

He renewed his attack, as one of his hands reached up and found hers, clasping it and squeezing tightly.

Throwing her head back, she arced up off the bed and came apart with a soft cry and a long, low moan, digging her short nails into the meat of his strong hand.

She dropped back onto the bed as he soothed her through the aftershocks with long strokes of his flattened tongue. She unknotted his hair from her fingers and stroked his scalp, bemused by the way the bottoms of her feet seemed to tick with each ebbing pulse of bliss.

Snape came up off the bed and looked down on her. She felt boneless and utterly unself-conscious under his burning gaze. He swiped at his mouth casually, and her eyes caught his faded Dark Mark. Without the pulsing blackness, it just looked like a shabby tattoo. It added to his mystique. He stepped back and began to unbuckle his belt, jerking his head towards the pillows. She rolled onto her hip and stretched, before getting up on her hands and knees to tug down the blankets. Knowing he was watching her every move, she made each one count. She heard his trousers hit the floor with a soft whoosh as she was turning to lie down.

She pulled the blankets back over her, but he grabbed them and tore them away, sending them sliding off the other side of the bed. She raised her eyes to see him in all his glory. He had one knee on the bed and was drinking his wine. Her eyes went lower, and she couldn't help the slow smile. _That_ was worthy of respect. She looked back up and saw his smirk.

"And you know it too," she said aloud.

"I've heard a thing or two to keep me humble," he said in a sexy rumble. "But not often."

He shifted to sit on the bed, still holding the wineglass, and settled his hip against hers. He held out the glass, and she sat up to take it. He pulled it away playfully and brought it to her mouth himself, watching her with open fascination as she nearly drank the rest. She could feel the droplet on her lip and was awed by the intensity of his stare as he watched it. He twitched, a short jerk of motion forward, but then stopped. She darted her tongue out and licked at it, and his mouth parted in response. She leaned forward to kiss him, but he'd already looked away. He lifted the glass and dribbled the last drops across her breasts, and as she squealed, he chuckled darkly and began licking them clean. She pulled the glass from his hand and set it on the bedside table before stroking her hands across the warm skin of his shoulders. He slid both of his arms around her and shifted his body until he was lying half on top of her and began gently thrusting his hips, stroking himself against her thigh as she sighed with contentment.

She pushed and shoved and finally got him off her so she could reach down and grasp him. Hissing in a breath, he pushed himself into her hand, and she felt the butterflies begin to run loose in her belly again.

She started to slither down on the bed, but he grabbed her under her arms and stopped her. "You don't have to," he said in a strange voice.

She twisted her head to look up at him. "But I want to…" She smiled. "Fair's fair."

Instead of happily relenting, he looked… resigned.

"I won't if you don't like it," she said with uncertainty. She didn't have the most extensive C.V. as far as the bedroom was concerned, but she was pretty sure it was something men usually liked rather a lot. However, _his_ body was tense, and not in a good way. She nodded and shifted back up, stroking his chest gently. When her lips drew even with his, she leaned in and kissed him.

His head darted back on the pillow in surprise, eyes wide, and she frowned, tilting her head to the side. "What's wrong?"

She could hear him swallow. "Nothing," he said in a hoarse voice. His eyes darted to her lips, and she saw a fragile yearning in his gaze. Her breath escaped in a long, quiet sigh as she was struck by the intensity of his bruising gaze. Here was that hint of vulnerability, cracked open and exposed. She didn't understand, but on some level she knew that someone _had_ hurt this man deeply.

She gently leaned in and kissed him again. A soft kiss, hopefully not aggressive in any way.

When she pulled back, his eyes stayed shut, and he sighed, his brows creased with an emotion she couldn't comprehend. She leaned in again, but stopped short, her lips barely brushing his, and he closed the distance. His hand came up and gripped the back of her neck, and he deepened the kiss, tentatively at first, but then with more and more passion as she responded in kind. He rolled her onto her back and followed, pinning her under his chest as his kisses turned desperate. Her synapses misfired in a jumble of thoughts as his lips explored hers, and she welcomed each and every caress. When he slanted his mouth across hers with a moan from deep in his chest, she opened up to him with abandon.

The effect this had on him was incredible. His restraint evaporated, and he kissed her almost violently, pulling at her and clutching her close. She held him tight and kissed him back with a desperation she didn't understand. He didn't break the kiss, even as he nudged her legs apart with his knee and shifted himself between her legs. She reached down and gently guided him, and he slid himself inside. _Then_ he broke the kiss. He tore his mouth away and whispered, "_Fuck_…" His entire body went rigid, the muscles on his back turning to steel cords as he held himself still. He opened his eyes, his gaze full and ripe with a heady mixture of pleasure and awe. Sucking in a deep breath through his nose, he began to move. His breath blew out in a long, rumble of pleasure as she urged him on with a small cry. From the gasps and snarled oaths, whatever aloof seduction he'd had planned for her had gone out the window as he lost control. He dipped his head down and kissed her again, dragging his lips across her cheek to whisper in her ear, "You feel so fucking _good_…"

She was too far gone in her own sensations to respond with anything more than a moan. It had been far too long since she'd held a man in her arms, and she couldn't remember it ever being this overpowering. She reached around and grabbed his arse in both hands as he began to move faster. They immediately dialed it up to unrefined passion. Grabbing one of her hands, he raised it above her head and crushed it to the pillow as she moaned under him. He leaned down and kissed her again, a possessive claiming. She tried to reciprocate, but her soft cries were coming too fast. She sucked his lower lip into her mouth and held it between hers as she hummed blissfully.

He groaned and it sounded almost like pain. Pulling his face away, he and looked down on her with eyes full of ecstasy and apology. "It's too... _fuck_... I can't…"

Seeing him so out of control seemed surreal. This normally stoic man was on fire with need and unable to conceal even the least reaction. His ragged breathing seemed to tear through her and she felt herself pulsing in response. She made a noise she didn't know she was capable of. "It's perfect. You're perfect." A wave of ecstasy ripped across her entire being and she gasped. "Oh… _yesss_… Just… _yes_..."

He growled low and long, and she could feel the tension in his frame as he tried to fight it. His entire body was trembling from his need. She leaned up and grabbed his face, kissing him deeply, sweeping her tongue past his lips, and he started to keen, moaning into her mouth. She broke the kiss, and his face crumpled up, just before his hips jerked erratically. He came with a rasping groan.

They collapsed to the bed in a heap. One couldn't call it boneless, as several of Severus' seemed to be digging into her, but she didn't care. She let out a low chuckle as she held him close, his chest heaving like a winded horse. "Gods, but you are an incredible man," she said stroking his back as he slowly slipped out of her.

He lifted his head, and she was utterly charmed by his drained smile. "Thank you," he said in a dead sexy voice before he kissed her gently. He teased her mouth open and took his time, leisurely kissing her as if he planned to do so for the rest of the night. She eventually had to protest his weight.

With a sigh, he lifted up and carefully rolled off of her, reaching over the edge of the bed and fishing around for his wand. He used several spells in rapid succession to clean them up, clean the wine off the sheets, and summon the blankets, before pulling her into his arms and spelling out the candles. She heard his wand drop to the carpet. She wouldn't have thought him someone who would toss his wand away before sleeping, but then, she couldn't be arsed to summon hers and slip it under the pillow either.

Paranoia had no room here tonight.

"You will stay until morning," he said. It wasn't a question.

She smiled and wrapped herself around him, settling her head in the crook of his shoulder and her knee across his thighs. "Alright."

She laid there in the total darkness, slowly growing more and more drowsy, while he stroked his fingers in small circles on her back. She was riding the alpha waves into oblivion when she felt him shift. The lightest of kisses fell on her lips. She smiled, but was too far under to do more than murmur a happy little sound.

:

She woke in the morning with a smile to the soft chime of a Tempus Charm and stretched sleepily before rolling over. Severus was gone, but there was a folded note hovering in the air next to the bed. Stretching out her arm, she plucked it out of the air and opened it.

She smiled at his familiar spiky script before reading: '_I trust you know how to find your way out_.'

She blinked and sat up, clutching the sheet to her breasts as she looked around the room with a frown. It seemed far emptier than it had last night. Daylight showed the scuffs and scratches on old furniture, and a few pulls and loose threads on the blanket. What had looked elegantly masculine the night before by candlelight seemed sadder and shabbier by day.

She sighed and pushed the blankets to the side. She'd said she didn't want to care. What had she expected, breakfast in bed?

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><p>heh.<p> 


	14. Chapter 14

**AN:** Many thanks and hugs to Hebe GB, whose gentle hand makes this so much more enjoayable. Thank you all for your reviews. I appreciate each and every one.

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><p>"Granger! Bring me some tea, and fetch something to take notes with!" Philips called over his shoulder as he stomped across the office.<p>

Alsea looked offended, and Keith Remor, the office manager, stopped in his tracks and let his mouth drop open.

Hermione gave them a strained smile and grabbed up her notes. She went to the tea urn, filled a cup, and zapped it with a Cooling Charm before heading into Philips' office. Remor stifled a laugh as she gave him a conspiratorial smile.

Philips stood in the doorway, hand held out for the tea as she entered his office. He banged the door shut and put up a Silencing Charm as he came around the desk, lifting his cup.

"You might want to heat that," she said as she sat and placed her parchment on the desk.

He looked at the tea and sighed. "I really wanted it, too." He mumbled a charm and steam curled from the cup, but when he sipped it, he grimaced and set it aside.

They had decided that little shows of him undervaluing her would keep her above a certain amount of suspicion. Little shows of defiance would have been normal for her as well. They didn't over do it, they just kept what they hoped was a normal amount of resentment and friction between two ambitious professionals. If the dynamic of their actual working relationship spilled over to this one, it might be wondered about. As far as the research went, he answered to her. As far as the department went, she didn't actually do anything anymore.

"What's going on downstairs?" she asked.

He sat back and blew out a breath. "Ts'ao Daiyu is gone. She took a couple of her people with her. She sent a letter that said we were wasting time, and she was better off in China. Others are grumbling as well."

"Who?"

"The damned Bulgarians, for one. Chilikov is complaining that we can't be trusted."

"What about João Krieger? What was his reaction to Ts'ao leaving?"

"He was angry but I get the feeling he thinks it good riddance to bad rubbish. She was a bit of an obstructionist and very disdainful of everyone else."

"What is your opinion of him?"

"João? He's a good man." He said this as if the fact surprised him, ironically oblivious to his own disdain.

"Do you think we can trust him enough to bring him into the other side of things?"

He made a moue of distaste, but nodded. "I agree with that Urquhart that the more people you involve, the less chance we have of keeping a lid on things, but we need more people. It will be devilishly difficult to coordinate the triangulation without tipping someone off to the fact that we have an idea of what we're doing."

She sat back and nodded. "Do it then. I will let you decide how much to tell him, just keep me informed as to how much you do. I want to send him the Weasley's to train in secret. It will look too suspicious if our department is suddenly flooded with gingers related to my best friend. They are some of the best flyers out there. They can track burps, and we know they can be trusted as much as anyone can. Push Viktor in his direction too, but for now, let's respect Quint's gut feeling and keep him less informed."

Philips nodded. "How odd," he said after a moment. "This Order of the Phoenix was something I read about with fascination after the battle. I had no idea I would be sitting amongst them."

Hermione smiled. "Only Arthur, George, and Snape were actually in the Order. The rest of us were more of a junior league of resistance."

He smirked. "A rather effective junior league. I feel better for having you all involved." He looked around the office. "I have no idea how I would have handled things if I'd started to see what was going on before I was manipulated out of office."

She picked up the stack of parchment, with their pre-prepared banal notes, and stood up. "If you had been too suspicious, you would have been manipulated into your grave, like the others. You were too good at this job."

He grimaced and nodded. "I have much to thank you for," he said.

"You're most welcome."

She lifted her wand and canceled the Silencing Charm, quickly adding the Tracking Charm. The tip glowed with a yellowish-orange light, just as it had before Philips came back from his morning conference. She cancelled it and shoved her wand in her sleeve before heading out the door.

"Alsea, can you get these copied and filed? I'm off to lunch."

"Right away, Miss Granger," she said. She tried to convey her loyalty with her eyes. Hermione smiled back sadly. Her and Philips' little panto was creating a terrible division of loyalties in the little Hufflepuff.

"No hurry, when you get to it."

She grabbed up her beaded bag and headed out to the canteen.

"Granger!"

She was waiting in the queue for the lift, as Quint hurried towards her with a smile that showed off his perfect teeth. "Where are you off to? Have time for a bit of lunch?"

Recognizing his signal, she played her part.

She looked at the three witches waiting with her and gave him a tight smile. "I already have plans, thanks. I'm meeting Harry and Ron now."

His face fell for a moment. "What about coffee later?"

She fidgeted with her bag. "I've got a late meeting. My boss wants me to take notes."

The lift arrived and they stepped aside to let the people off. Hermione let the other witches get on first. When she moved to get on, Quint reached out and plucked at her sleeve, holding her back.

"Then let me take you for a drink afterwards."

She rolled her eyes and signaled the others to leave without her. The three witches gave each other amused looks and one nodded to her with understanding, as the car left.

When they were gone, Quint's annoyingly charming smile dropped, and they hurried to the door for the stairs. Hermione let him cast the Silencing Spell as they jogged down the steps.

"Your notes are inside the Ministry," he said. "I lost them somewhere here in London around midnight last night and thought I'd blown the whole plan. But they popped up here this morning."

"I know. The charm has stayed light orange for me all morning, occasionally fading to yellow."

"That means they haven't made it to your floor. Whoever has them. They're moving around. It's been annoying the way they seem to disappear and reappear I've been riding the bloody lift for hours. I should have made a move during the meeting. The longer it takes to find them, the less chance we have of tracking the thief to any associates."

"Philips doesn't seem to have them," she said. "Unless he's a better actor than I give him credit for, I don't think it's him. At this point, it looks like Worple. Perhaps the Department of Mysteries is interfering with the Charm?"

"That's what I thought."

They took the turn at a run and raced down another flight.

"What was going on with you and Snape in the kitchen last night?" he asked in a stern voice.

She darted a look at him. "Pretty much exactly what it looked like," she replied in a quiet voice.

He pulled her to a stop. "That came out of nowhere, didn't it?"

She clenched her jaw. "This isn't the time or place for jealousy," she snapped.

The muscle in his jaw bounced. "No, but it is the time and place for suspicion." He crossed his muscular arms across his broad chest. "Let's clear one thing up. I'm not going to lie and say I don't find you attractive—if you were to ever look at me the way you looked at him, I'd be done for—but my father was an Unspeakable, and it's what made my mother leave him." He shrugged apologetically. "I like you a lot, Granger, but I'm sorry. I won't deal with your career change well in the long term. I'm stepping out of the queue."

She blinked, unaccountably stung by this revelation. What the hell was wrong with her? Two years dry, and now she couldn't seem to have enough men around her. She wasn't even interested in Quint that way. "I-I thank you for telling me that."

He nodded and turned. "Now, explain to me why you and Professor Snape were burning up the kitchen so suddenly," he demanded as they continued down the stairs.

"It wasn't as sudden as all that. We've had a few moments here and there for a while now."

"Before or after you told him what you had become wrapped up in?"

She pondered that. "Well, it started as I was figuring out what was going on."

He frowned and the muscles jumped in his jaw again. "Granger…"

She waved a hand at him and picked up speed. "I won't lose my head. It's not as complicated as all that."

He snorted. "Give me a reason to believe that. You're about the most complicated woman I know. Making moon eyes at all my suspects isn't making my job easier."

She grimaced. "Well, I can tell you my notes weren't in his rooms at Hogwarts last night."

He made a frustrated, angry sound. "Try not to be completely stupid, Granger. You're going to give me an ulcer."

She picked up speed. They sped down the staircase in silence for a while before he spoke again. "Alright, I have to know. What _does_ he have that I don't? I mean, come on…"

She laughed. "It's kind of hard to explain." She gave him a smile. "I think it's the nose…"

Quint stopped in his tracks, and she laughed as she left him behind.

She heard him mutter, "Women," under his breath as he headed back to the MLE offices and she headed down to the canteen.

:

"Meat and veg, meat and veg, meat and veg. Why do we eat here?" asked Harry as he dropped his tray next to Ron's and sat down.

"Because we always eat here on Tuesdays," said Ron. "Which reminds me, whose turn is it to cook this Friday?"

"Harry's," Hermione said.

"Good," he said. "I love McDonald's. Get me a Whopper with cheese this time."

"That's Burger King," Harry corrected.

"Oh. Right."

"You have a special order Hermione?"

"I won't be there. Sorry."

"What? Not another date," said Ron.

"This from the man trying to set me up with his coworkers."

Ron frowned. "I already apologized for that."

She gave him a smirk. "I have to go and see my parents."

Harry and Ron instantly perked up at their coded phrase. It was all about the acting skills today. "Oh? How's Mum and Dad?" Harry asked as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a Snitch. It was actually an Auror device so they could talk freely. Anyone listening would hear a pre-recorded fifteen-minute conversation about her parents.

"What's going on?" Ron asked, smiling and tilting his head.

She plastered a smile on her face and replied, "I'll tell you tonight. I want to ask you something first. How did Snape get involved?"

Harry's pleasant face turned brittle. "Why? Is something wrong?"

She had to work not to shake her head. The Snitch conversation needed to match the body language. "No, I just didn't get a chance to get all the facts before I left for Iran."

"It was my idea. He came in that morning and gave me a list of places to look for Lloyt. He said you had stopped by and were upset he was gone. Kingsley wanted me to put together a task-force and when he asked if there was anything else he could do to help, I took him up on it."

Hermione almost sagged with relief.

Ron gave her a long look. "What's going on?"

"I'm just paranoid," she said, shoving a piece of grilled chicken into her mouth. It tasted like ham.

"You might have a reason to be," he added.

She looked up. "Why?"

Ron sat back and smiled, shaking his head. "Well, we're looking for something that could change the past. It strikes me that Snape has a pretty good motivation to want to change the past."

Hermione's pretense at acting was snuffed out like a candle as the chicken in her mouth turned dry as a bone.

:

Hermione stood in the corridor outside the reading room and stared at the door. It was Tuesday. He said he was always there on Tuesdays.

She couldn't bring herself to go in. What would she say? Thanks for the shag, it was the best on my life! Oh, and by the way, are you using me to go back in time and save Harry's Mum?

She couldn't make heads or tails of the man, and without understanding him, she had no chance of knowing what the truth was. She remembered the Pensieve memory of his grief. It had horrified her to see him so… shattered. And yet, when she saw him next, Lily Evans Potter had _not_ been the one on his mind. Perhaps he had just loved her deeply as a friend? She could understand that. She would fall apart if anything happened to Harry or Ron, and knew they would feel the same.

And yet… why _had_ he slept with her? She tried to replay their two other conversations in this room but couldn't get the order of events right in her mind. Had he responded to her flirting before or after she'd mentioned she was looking for something that could change time? And when would he have decided that sleeping with her was the best way to stay close to the information? _Why_ would he have, when he was already on her team…

The idea left her feeling hollow and used, which was patently stupid, since she'd blatantly told him last night that she'd wanted to use _him_.

She blew out a deep breath, and her shoulders sagged. This was stupid. She already had enough on her mind without adding more. Shagging Snape had been a huge mistake. She would _not_ repeat it.

She took a step back and then turned away from the door, stopping when she saw him standing there.

Snape stared at her with that same, patient look in his eyes as he leaned against the wall a few feet away. There was something so strange about his almost boyish body language—hands shoved in his pockets, boots crossed at the ankles—that she was utterly disarmed.

He didn't say anything, just continued to watch her in that way of his. She _knew_ if she were to walk past him, he wouldn't stop her. Wouldn't say a word. That's exactly what she should do.

Of course, it wasn't what she did.

She walked over and stopped in front of him. "Why?"

He regarded her for a long moment before he straightened up and looked down at her. "Because you asked."

"Did I?" she said, openly showing her confusion about everything.

"Didn't you? I shall have to ask you to be more specific in the future then."

"And if I don't ask in the future?"

His eyes lost their gentle look, turning flat and expressionless. "Then you don't. You wouldn't be the first. You won't be the last."

"And if I do?"

The eyes stayed expressionless. "Then be specific as to what you want."

She stared at him. She didn't like it. She didn't like the way he discussed the issue as if it were a class assignment. Why? He was a powerful, magnetic wizard; why was he acting so jaded?

She remembered that moment when he'd lost control of his careful seduction and it pricked at her heart. She lifted her face up and whispered, "I want to kiss you again."

His eyes. It was all in the eyes. His face remained impassive, but his eyes turned to liquid ink. "Then ask."

She blinked. There was something here she didn't understand at all. "May I have a kiss?"

His expression softened, and his arms swept around her, pulling her against him as his head dipped down. His wonderful scent enveloped her as he kissed her tenderly, gently, and when she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, passionately. He turned them so she was against the wall and the kiss turned into something deep and frantic. He sucked on her tongue and little mewls of pleasure escaped them both as he held her tight to his chest. He broke away, only to kiss her jaw, her neck, her cheek and her ear before claiming her lips again. She clung to him, riding out the storm of his need. For it obviously _was_ his need as well. For some reason, he needed her to ask for what he wanted.

She hung on to him and kissed him back, digging her fingers into the muscles of his neck.

There was a ding from the lift down the hall, and he tore his mouth away. In a flash, he was striding off towards the reading room, his cloak flowing out behind him.

Hermione looked after him, dazed and more than a little desperate. That had been a hell of a kiss. She pulled herself away from the wall and shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. She patted at her hair and turned at the sound of someone coming down the hall.

"Miss Granger! I'm so glad I found you!" Abel Osterhoudt was tottering towards her on his cane.

"Hello there," she said, trying to keep her voice natural. "You found me, sir."

"Indeed I did. I wanted to ask you some questions about your notes."

"My notes?"

"Yes. About the Crystal of Time? The ones you sent me last night?" He reached into his voluminous sleeve and pulled out her stolen notes, holding them out to her with a happy smile. "I have so many questions to ask you."

:

"Tell me, what time you received the notes," Quint asked Osterhoudt. It was actually the fifth time he'd asked the old man, but he made it sound as if the question had just occurred to him.

The notes themselves had been taken to the lab to try and track down any clues as to who else had had them in their possession, but Quint hadn't sounded hopeful.

"The owl arrived at my window around eleven-thirty last night, as I've said," Osterhoudt replied, with audibly fading patience. "I saw immediately that they were of a very sensitive nature, so I put them in my safe until morning. That would have been around midnight." He turned away from Quint with a scowl of impatience. "I realize there are larger doings going on, Miss Granger, but I would really like to speak with you about your findings. The notes you have about how to use the Crystal of Time seem full of errors and ambiguities."

"I'm afraid I'm not the one you need to speak with," she said. "Philips is the one in charge of things. I was just taking notes. I don't understand half of what I write down. I'm sure he will make time to see you, but it would probably be best if you waited until he brought the information before the committee."

She stared at him with her best innocent face, fearing her acting skills had been tapped out for the day. Part of her just wanted to Obliviate him and go find a Headache Remedy, but she knew that was foolish. If he wasn't a suspect, his mind was full of helpful information. Messing with his memory was most likely a dreadful idea. She stood and smoothed down the front of her robes.

"Mr. Osterhoudt, if you have any concerns about the research, please let Mr. Philips know. And I'm sorry for your inconvenience. With everything that's going on, I thought it was best to tell the Aurors that my notes had been stolen. I really am sorry you were mixed up in it."

The old man sighed like a deflated tire. "Very well," he said in a tired voice.

She left him with Quint and slipped out the door, wondering if Snape was still down in the reading room, and if he happened to have a cure for her headache.

Shaking her head, she banished the thought.

:

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><p>Several of you have asked how long this story will be. So far, it's holding firm at 37 chapters, so we're not even halfway...<p> 


	15. Chapter 15

**AN**: More plot...

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><p>"Miss Granger?" she looked up and found Alsea in the doorway of Philip's office.<p>

"Yes?"

"Mr. Krum is outside. He said you had plans with him?"

She grimaced. "Damn." She'd postponed dinner with Viktor twice now. She looked at Philips, whose expression showed irritated impatience. They had been wrapped up in another meeting about what was going on with the committee. So far, it just seemed like a lot of infighting and ego stroking. The French had finally sent an envoy, a part-Veela woman named Ange Baudin, who had disrupted things simply by being beautiful. Philips didn't appear to be affected; in fact, he appeared to be fed up.

"Are we finished here?" she asked.

He frowned. "It's after five anyway," he said, shoving the latest reports into the drawer of his desk. "You can go, Miss Granger," he replied in his professional voice.

She hurried to her cubicle and pulled her handbag out of her desk.

"There you are."

She winced at the warm tone of voice and straightened up. "I'm sorry Viktor. Things have just been so crazy lately."

He smiled. "I knew it," he said quietly, offering her his arm.

"Knew what?"

"I knew you would still have your fingers in all the pies, as the Muggles say. Don't vorry. I am not saying a thing. Come. Vee eat."

:

Victor sat back and dropped his napkin on his plate. "That vas vonderful. The curry in my country is not the same at all." He gestured to her empty plate. "You vere hungry. I'm glad I haf fed you."

With a listless smile, she nodded. "Me too. I really needed that." She darted a glance at him. "The food _and_ the company."

Viktor made a subtle motion with his hand, and she felt her ears pop as the Privacy Charm went up. He reached across the table and wrapped his fingers around hers. "Tell me vut is going on," he said in a quiet voice. "Vy do I get the feeling that I am vasteing my time vith this committee? I came to the UK to help _you_, not Chilikov and that arrogant fool, Philips."

She snorted and turned her hand so she could squeeze his fingers. Taking a deep breath, she said, "I don't want to tell you. Yes, I'm still involved, that much I obviously can't hide, but people are being killed, and I'm terrified that if you get more involved, you'll be next. You're one of the last people I care about that isn't in immediate danger. I want to keep it that way."

He stroked his thumb across the back of her hand. "Herm-oh-ninny, that's not the vay these things vork. You know this. Didn't Harry once try to push everyone away? To go on alone? Didn't he fail? Vat did he spare you, his friend? Nothing. I came here, knowing that there vas danger. If that bothered me, I could haf stayed in Bulgaria and vatched Quidditch. I came here to help," his black eyes looked deep into hers. "Let me help."

She looked away, unable to bear the earnestness in his gaze. Pulling her hand back, she mentally flogged herself for sitting here cataloguing how many traits he had in common with Snape, while he was offering to put his life on the line for her.

Blowing out a long sigh, she nodded. "Alright, but there are rules. You have to do what I say, not what you think is right, understand?"

"Da." He gave her a sharp jerk of his head and folded his arms in front of him, giving her his full attention.

"And you have to understand that there is no chance of an 'us.' If you choose to get dragged in deeper, you have to know that right from the start. I value you as a friend, and if circumstances had been different, then I might have liked to pursue something more again. However, they are what they are. Things are too complicated for anything else, and any attempt I make to try and steal a bit of a personal life would only be a distraction." She realized the truth of her words even as she said them. Viktor's eyes reflected the same subtle disappointment that she felt as she realized that in order to function, she had to keep Snape at a distance.

"Ve never had much of a chance," he said with a shrug. "You vill alvays be the vun that got avay. However, I haf not been pining for you all these years, and I shall not pine for you in the future. You may count on me to not get my priorities mixed up. Your friendship is more important than my fantasies."

Her eyes went wide before she shook her head with a small laugh. "Oh, god. How did you make that sound romantic?"

His face lit up, and his eyes danced with humor. "It is one of my skills."

She laughed again and sipped the last of her ale. Leaning across the table, she dropped her voice lower. "We know what we're looking for, and we're close to figuring out how to find it. This thing is incredibly powerful and incredibly dangerous. You already know there are people out there that would gladly kill to get their hands on it. That's why we've become more covert. Things aren't what they seem. Philips actually works for me."

His eyebrows rose, but only for a moment before he nodded and smirked. "As he should."

She snorted, "Don't underestimate him. He _is_ in charge of everything he says he is, and he's damned good at it. I'm in charge of finding this thing."

"Then it _is_ an artifact?"

She nodded. "Of a sort, but it affects time, so two schools of thought were correct. Anyway, I'm going after more information tomorrow, and if you want in, I'd like to have you with me."

"Da. Count me in."

"Good. We're heading to Toledo in the morning. We're to meet a man at the cathedral there in the afternoon. He's either a witness or a suspect, so it could play out in several ways. We could be back tomorrow night, but you should be prepared for a longer stay, just in case."

"Done. Vere should I meet you?"

She thought about it, Harry's home was still secret kept, so she couldn't tell him. "Head to George Weasley's shop in Diagon Alley tonight. He lives above it. I'll send him a Patronus to expect you. He'll be able to explain a little more to you at that point, and take you to where we're all meeting up in the morning."

"Good. I vill do this. In fact, I should go now and prepare."

They stood up, and he took a moment to drop money on the table and cancel his charm. Once at the door, he opened it for her. "I vill see you in the morning then," he said. "I'm glad. I admit that I vas getting annoyed at not being helpful. This makes me much happier."

She grinned at him. "I admit I was irritated that we weren't including you as well. We're short on allies, and you were right _there_."

He smirked and leaned in closer. "And now I am right _here_."

A frisson of hyper-awareness rippled across her skin. "_Stop_ that," she said with a snort.

"I stop," he said with a smile and a wink. "But I vill keep my fantasies. Sleep vell, Herm-oh-ninny."

She watched him walk off into the London evening, preoccupied with whatever his fantasies entailed and wondered what the hell was wrong with her that she was even curious. Heading to the Apparition point, she sent her otter off to give George her message, and then twisted into a turn, vanishing with a soft pop.

:

The alarm she'd set flared into a shrill whine at half-past four in the morning. Hermione dragged her hand from under her pillow and slashed her wand at it. Shoving her blankets down, she groaned and pushed up out of the bed, slouching off to take a shower.

She stepped through the Floo and into the sitting room of Grimmauld, finding Ron, Harry, Quint and Arthur already there. Harry pressed a cup of tea into her hands as she dropped her bag on the table and dropped into a chair.

Arthur handed her a folder stuffed with Muggle brochures and postcards. "Maps, images, and a list of possible safe houses you might want to consider," he said.

"Thank you. When did you get back?"

"Last night, about eight. I spent most of my time at the cathedral, amazing place, and have determined that the configuration of the shadows on the Muggle postcard you received will occur around three in the afternoon, local time. I've brought back more of them—handy things, they are—and marked the better surveillance locations. The safe houses are marked on the map. There was a lovely hotel that had something called a Jacuzzi that was quite remarkable. I'm thinking of trying to install one at the Burrow."

She looked through the file he'd handed her and smiled. "This is excellent. Well done."

Arthur preened and pulled a gaudy, Muggle keychain out of his pocket. "I got this as well. I got two, actually, gave one to Molly. When you press this little button, the cathedral lights up with all these colors. Amazing."

"Show me again?" Quint asked with obvious fascination. Arthur and the Auror put their heads together as they examined the Muggle tourist fodder. Within minutes, they'd broken it.

Harry and Hermione shared a smile as Ron rolled his eyes. The Floo activated and Neville stepped through. "Sorry I'm late. My Tempus Charm failed. Thank Merlin Hannah set a backup. She knows me too well. Are we ready?"

"Almost. We're just waiting for George and Viktor."

"_Krum?_" blurted Quint. His brow furrowed as he frowned at her.

"Yes, Krum," she said, feeling slightly defensive. "Viktor is an asset that we should have been utilizing all along."

Harry and Ron nodded in agreement and Quint grumbled. "You know my feelings on the matter," he muttered. "No sense repeating myself, if no one's going to listen."

"Do shut up," she huffed.

Ron snorted but said, "They'd better come soon, the Portkey is set for five."

Harry nodded. "You'd better head into the garden," he said, handing them the dented watering can. "Quint's got the return Portkeys. They're set for different times over the next three days. Miss one, you just have to catch the next. Miss them all, and we'll come looking for you, got it?"

She nodded and set her tea cup down on the table. She, Quint, and Neville picked up their gear and followed Ron through the house to the back door. Her watch told her they only had five minutes left. Once outside, she paced in the gloom of the dawn. "What's holding them up?" she said for the third time.

"Knowing George, he's probably still stuffing his pockets," Ron muttered.

The back door opened, and she twisted around to see George and Arthur come out. There was no sign of Viktor. George shook his head. "Sorry, Hermione. I waited as long as I could, but Krum didn't show up in time. I had to leave him behind."

"What do you mean? Where did he go? Why would he have left your flat?"

George reached out and put his hand on the watering can. "He didn't leave, he never arrived."

"Never arrived? But he was going home to gather some things and head to your flat last night. That was around eight."

George shook his head. "I thought your message said he would be arriving in the morning, or I would've said something sooner. He never came to my flat at all last night. I was home the whole time."

She craned her head around and gave Harry and Ron a panicked, pleading look. "We ate at Velda's Vindiloo, near Nelson's Square!"

"I'm on it," said Ron, twisting into a turn and disappearing with a crack.

Quint grabbed her hand and squeezed it, before placing it on the watering can. "Oh, gods," she muttered, just before the Portkey activated and wrenched her away. "What have I done?"

:

* * *

><p>Followed by more adventure!<p> 


	16. Chapter 16

**AN:** Lots of love and thanks to all my reviewers.

* * *

><p>Hermione sat on the bench in front of the city hall in Toledo, Spain and fidgeted. The nervous adrenalin made it nearly impossible to sit still. She'd arrived in the square a few moments ago. Neville and Quint had already been there for an hour, and George had been in the area since noon. It was just coming up to three in the afternoon and the shadows on the cobbled square were creeping toward their correct positions.<p>

Now that the moment had come, she felt her focus finally engage. She'd been a frantic mess when they'd arrived, and it had taken far too long for her to be able to punch past her panic and be a useful member of the team. The worry over Viktor kicked up the anxiety over seeing Caleb again as well as the nagging fear that she was unfit for the burden she'd been handed and would inevitably cock everything up. It had all been too much, and she'd spent an hour being dangerously close to hysterical. It was Quint's advice that had helped because it had been so coldly logical. Nothing could be done about any of those things just now, and focusing on the mission was more important than feeling so guilty that she ruined everything.

She'd slowly snapped out of it, managing to sound competent as she sent them off to nail down their plans. They'd spent two days coming up with them, Ron mostly, but it was hard to create strategies for dealing with Caleb Lloyt when they didn't know if she would be meeting a murderer or a victim on the run.

Not knowing who was friend or foe had been one of the most frustrating things about the entire affair so far. Their suspects had a tendency to come and go so often they'd stopped referring to them as being on a list and started calling it the carousel. Abel Osterhoudt held the record for the number of times he'd jumped on and off the ride. He was currently off it, but he'd managed to put Philips and Snape back on. If he was telling the truth, he'd received the notes before Hermione had arrived in Snape's rooms.

It was a hell of a mess.

She sat back on the bench and tried to look relaxed. It was everything she could do to not look up at the roof of the cathedral across the square to try and find George. She knew it would be useless. He was wearing Harry's cloak. Neville was easier to spot. He was the old man sitting on another bench playing ball with an English bulldog.

Quint was the bulldog.

The man had hidden talents.

As well placed as they all were, she would have preferred another person. Too many became unwieldy, but Viktor would have been a decided advantage. He was a skilled flyer, yes, but more than that, he had experience with Dark Magic. That would have been a decided bonus, considering they had no idea what they were up against.

Thinking of Dark Magic made her think of Snape. Not that he was ever far from her thoughts. The only time she'd seen Snape since their incredible kiss in the hallway, was at the brief meeting at Grimmauld yesterday when they'd planned this trip. He'd acted as sour and intimidating as he always did at Grimmauld Place, and the two of them hadn't exchanged more than a curt greeting and a polite good night the entire evening.

Seeing Snape had made her brain hurt and her body start to respond. The body part was easy to understand. The man was a fantastic lover and even the memories of the night they'd spent together made her squirm. The brain part was harder to explain. Sleeping with him had made _no sense_. Between Caleb, Quint, and Viktor, she'd been surrounded by extremely attractive men, and yet, when she'd finally indulged her body, she'd picked _Snape_. She felt her mind twisting, wrenching, trying to figure out why she'd done such a stupid, selfish thing. And why was she so unhappy with her decision not to repeat the event? What the hell was _wrong_ with her?

She was pulled from her thoughts by the barking of the dog. She looked over to see him chasing a ball and smirked. She was _so_ going to enjoy taking the piss out of him for this display.

The bench she was on lurched, and she turned to see a Spanish woman in her mid-fifties sit down. She perched her cheap, red handbag on the bench between them.

"_Buenos dias_," Hermione said politely, before turning away.

"_Buenos dias_ yourself, Granger" the woman said in a soft, Welsh accent. "Please tell me you didn't come alone."

She whipped her head back towards the woman and stared into her brown eyes. There was nothing about them that reminded her of Caleb. "I'm sorry?" she said, stalling for time so she could decide who this person was.

A ball bounced by her feet and the woman leaned down and picked it up, holding it out teasingly for the short, squat dog that had come running over. The dog sniffed at her hand and then backed up, waiting expectantly for the ball. The woman made a few fake throws, smirking all the while.

Quint apparently didn't like being teased. He planted his feet and started to growl.

"You're an ugly little thing," the woman said, before tossing the ball. The dog didn't chase it right away. He stayed, staring the woman down and looking like he was contemplating chewing her face off instead. Which Hermione knew he was. "I think I've insulted him," she said with a laugh.

The dog finally turned and waddled away, and Hermione averted her gaze. Watching Quint's bollocks bounce was a little above and beyond the call of duty.

"I'm glad you're here," the woman said quietly, looking about.

Hermione shifted on the bench and tried to look more casual, even though her anxiety made her hair want to burst out if its confines just so it could stand straight up. "Are you?" she said neutrally.

The woman smiled back at her, her lips curving up higher on one side, displaying a gold tooth. "Good. You're suspicious. That's a good way to be."

She turned and pinned the woman with a baleful eye. "Who are you?"

The woman sighed. "We don't have time for this. We're not safe here."

"If I'm to believe you, I need more to go on than a gold tooth. Why are you in Spain?"

The woman shifted and kicked her legs out before her on the bench. It was the gesture of someone with longer legs than the dowdy woman next to her. "I'm looking for answers."

"Explain," Hermione demanded.

She turned to her. "There's no time. Listen to me. In the bag next to me is an artifact I found in Córdoba. I think it can help you, but I have no idea what it is or how to use it. Take it now, so I know it's safe." Hermione looked down at the handbag. It was just a cheap plastic knock off of some Muggle designer. She picked it up and slipped her arm through the strap as the woman gave her Caleb's tilted smile again. "Meet me for dinner and I will explain. I've found a paella to die for near my rooms."

"Where are you staying?"

"I have a small room down on the Avenida Del General Villalba. I'll meet you at Don Pepe's at 8 o'clock."

"Where are you going to be until then?"

"Hiding. There are many eyes in Spain. Where are you staying?"

"Right around the corner," Hermione replied, grateful that one of the safe houses they'd picked was so close. "Calle de Covarrubias."

The woman nodded, but then they both froze as they felt a wave of magic sweep over them. Quint gave a warning bark. "_Are_ you alone?" the other woman asked suddenly.

Alarmed, she whispered, "No."

"That felt like an Anti-Apparition charm to me, was it one of yours?"

Hermione felt her heart starting to thump in her chest as she shook her head.

They both looked up at the sound of a scuffing step, and her eyes widened. A sickening sensation of dizziness spread over her as she looked up to see Caleb Lloyt looking relieved and worried.

"Granger! Bloody hell, you're a sight for sore eyes. It's good to see you. I see you didn't come alone."

Hermione tore her eyes away from this second Caleb and stared at the woman on the bench. The woman's eyes were wide with surprise and fear as she—_he?_—turned to her and hissed, "_Run_."

The woman bolted up off the bench and took off across the square. Hermione whipped out her wand and aimed it at this second Caleb. "Don't move!"

He raised his hands into the air babbling, "Granger, who was that?"

The dog shot across the square after the disguised 'Caleb', and pigeons exploded off of the roof of the cathedral across the square. Neville stood up and aimed his wand at the 'Caleb' standing in front of her.

He stepped closer to her, his face a blend of confusion, anger and frustration. "You have to trust me! I have information! I'm trying to help you."

She looked around to see if his shouting had attracted attention and noticed a group of Asian tourists who seemed overly interested in them. George had cast Muggle-Repelling Charms on the benches earlier this morning. No one should have been watching them at all.

"Neville, we have a problem," she said in a quiet voice.

"I see it."

Hermione nodded and returned her gaze to the man before her. "If you're who you're supposed to be, tell me what the last order you gave me was?"

He looked at her with anger and sneered, twisting his scar and revealing a flash of gold tooth. "I told you not to think about _him_." He jabbed at the air beyond her shoulder with his chin.

Confused, Hermione looked behind her to see Snape, wand out and face a mask of imminent wrath. Her heart nearly strangled itself as it tried to keep pace with both panic and relief at the same time. Lowering her wand, she whispered, "S_hit_." She hardened her expression and snapped, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"That's irrelevant at the moment, Granger," he said, not taking his eyes off the gathering tourists in the square.

She looked back up to see that the group of Asians had spread out in a semi circle in front of the cathedral and had pulled out their wands. There looked to be about a dozen of them.

Snape stepped around the bench and put himself between her and the threat as Caleb twisted to the side and backed away.

"They must have followed me," he whispered. "I'm sorry. They've been after me all this time."

"Shit," she muttered again, marveling at just how spectacularly everything had gone pear shaped in such a short amount of time.

One of the group, a woman, shot a hex at Snape, testing him. He barely moved his hand as he deflected it back and neatly took out one of her companions. There was a long pause, and another tried again, with the same result. A man barked something in Chinese, and they spread out even more. At another shout, they all started to fire off hexes and curses at once. Hermione, Caleb, and Neville threw up Protective Charms, as Snape went on the attack. Chaos erupted as hexes and curses flew back and forth across the square.

Neville darted in from the side and cast another Shield Charm just in the nick of time as a Blasting Hex exploded the cobbled pavement before them into bits of superheated rubble. "We're outnumbered!" he shouted.

Hermione nodded. "We have to go!"

Caleb grabbed her, pulling her close as he aimed his wand and threw up a shield. "Where? If we get separated, how do I find you?"

"The red brick apartments on Calle Luxemburgo!" she yelled. "Look for the third-floor corner balcony covered in ivy at the back! Go!" she shouted.

Caleb let go of her and twisted into a spin, stopping when nothing happened. "We can't Apparate!" he shouted.

"_Run!_" Another explosion made her throw her hands up against the blast, and when she lowered them, Caleb was gone.

Snape had four of them down by that point, with Neville shielding him from debris. The ex-Death Eater began to walk forward, pressing his attack. Curiously, although they were outnumbered nearly three-to-one, it was their opponents who began to step back. Hermione came up from behind, firing on targets of opportunity.

"Why are we not scarpering?" Neville asked through gritted teeth.

"You have questions," Snape replied, his voice chillingly calm. "They have answers."

Hermione blanched at the threat underscoring his dead-voiced delivery. She darted a glance at his face and shuddered. She'd seen Death Eaters in action before, but she'd never seen Snape. He was _cold_.

The three of them advanced, Neville throwing shields and deflections over the panicked Muggles huddled together in terror, Snape sending death and destruction, and Hermione feeling like she was just being dragged along in their wake picking off targets when she could. She couldn't seem to think straight at all.

Snape sent a broadly cast Reducto sweeping across their opponents ranks, taking down three more, and first one, then another, and finally all that were still capable, disappeared in a series of pops. Snape broke into a run and grabbed at a woman who was crawling towards her wand a few feet away. He flipped her over onto her back and hissed, "_Legilimens!_"

Neville, seeing no one left willing to fight, immediately went to help those Muggles who had been caught up in the madness. Hermione eyed Snape, his face a mask of violent concentration, and left him to join Neville, helping to heal and liberally spreading targeted Obliviates.

The sound of sirens grew closer and Hermione and Neville hurried back over to Snape, who was still locked into his rapport with the woman on the ground. Hermione realized the woman was twitching, trembling from some sort of fit. The woman cried out and then went limp as her nose began to bleed profusely. She stared up at the sky with a blank expression, blinking slowly. Snape finally stood up.

"We have to get out of here," he said, looking around the square. He slashed his wand through the air, and the resulting pop told her that the Anti-Apparition Spell had been cancelled.

"What the hell did you do to her?" Hermione hissed.

Snape turned and seemed to see her for the first time. "She fought me."

"What happened?"

"I won."

He grabbed her arm and turned into a spin.

:

Hermione came out of the Apparition to find herself atop a large, barren hill overlooking Toledo. From its position across the Tagus river, she assumed they were standing on the Cerro del Bú.

She snatched her arm away from him. "What the hell are you doing here!" she snapped.

"I had thought that would be obvious," he replied in a calm voice. A trickle of sweat ran down the side of his face, otherwise, there was nothing to show he'd just fought a duel against a dozen opponents.

"Spell it out for me."

He frowned at her. "I was under the impression I was saving your hide."

"And I was under the impression you had N.E.W.T.s this week."

"I portkeyed here immediately after my last test this morning," he said in a tight voice.

"And hid rather than tell me you were here. Why?"

His patience snapped. "Because you were staking yourself out like a sacrificial lamb, and Arthur informed me that you were lacking personnel for the mission."

She tore at the clasp in her hair and scrubbed at her scalp, managing to make her hair stand up around her like shrubbery. "I wanted people who aren't bloody _suspects_ of one sort or another!"

He recoiled, clearly insulted. "You still suspect me?"

She threw her hands up. "I suspect _everyone_. Just because I find you mesmerizing, doesn't mean you're off the list." She snarled in frustration. "No one seems to stay off the bloody list."

He seemed to calm after that statement. He took a deep breath and blew it out, saying, "Why am I back on it?"

She looked up through a tangle of brown frizz. "I'm not so far gone from stress that I'll tell you everything, Snape."

He pursed his lips, and she suspected he was hiding a smirk. "It was worth a try."

She turned away from him and looked back at the city. The view really was breathtaking. She sat down in the dirt. "What did you learn from your victim?" she asked, not letting him off the hook for what she thought was most likely a breach of law.

He let her question hang in the air before he answered. "The woman's name was Guo Jiaying. She was under orders to apprehend you and a Chinese specialist who's gone missing. She doesn't work for the Chinese Ministry, but for a crime syndicate called the Dawn Knife. They believe that a priceless artifact is about to be discovered, and they want it."

Hermione nodded, unsurprised. "How did she know I would be here?"

"Spies. She knew nothing more than that."

She nodded again. "Who's the missing specialist?"

"A woman named Ts'ao Daiyu."

Hermione twisted her head over her shoulder and looked up at him. "_That _was unexpected."

"You know her?"

"She was on the multinational committee. She was a bit of a pain in the arse, insisting the event would produce an artifact. She was supposed to be some sort of Archeological prodigy. I was told she left this week, saying we were all useless."

"It would seem she left everyone. She went missing two days ago, and they think she might be trying to find you."

Hermione looked back across the river. "I wonder if she _did_ find me."

She pulled the cheap handbag off her shoulder and flipped it open. There was nothing in it but a small, silk-wrapped bundle. She lifted it out and carefully unrolled it, finding a hexagonal box about the size of her palm. It looked to be made of stone—alabaster if she had to guess. It was white, slightly translucent, and contained no markings, ornamentation, or anything else to place its manufacture. She turned it around in her hands, noting the smooth, rounded corners. It had a catch and a hinge, two loops carefully carved from the stone, and she could see a stain where the original pin had rusted and marred the perfection of the gleaming white. The pin that held it closed now seemed to be made of steel, but showed no rust at all. Nothing rattled or shifted as she turned it in her hands. Whatever it contained was either very light or filled it to capacity. She slipped the pin out and pulled the top open.

She grimaced at the high-pitched shriek that emitted from the empty box as soon as the lid came free. Clapping the lid back on, she reinserted the pin.

"I know that sound," she said.

"So do I," Snape replied from behind her.

She went to wrap it back in the silk scarf, but Snape reached over her shoulder and snatched it from her hand.


	17. Chapter 17

**AN**: Lord, I love a cliffhanger. I'm sorry for that last chap. It's one of my vices...

* * *

><p>Hermione leapt to her feet and pulled out her wand. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"<p>

Snape looked at her in irritation before returning to his study of the box. He turned it over and over in his hands, before handing it back to her without comment. Perusing the ground, he picked up a stone and pulled out his wand. Murmuring accompanied his Transfiguration, and in a moment, he was holding up an almost identical box.

"Wrap this," he said, "and put it back in the bag. It's missing the rust stain, but it should do."

She flushed and stuffed the original in the pocket of her trousers.

When she had the decoy back in the handbag, she looked up at him, feeling utterly foolish. "I'm sorry."

His eyes remained hard. "Don't be stupid. Paranoia will keep you alive longer."

She stepped closer and placed her hand on his arm. "I _want_ to trust you. I'm so very tired of not being free to trust."

She heard him sigh softly. "Trust is foolish, Granger. It will only hurt you in the end."

She looked up at him. "Is that why you're so closed off all the time? You trusted someone and were hurt?"

He looked down at her and sneered. "No. Now if you are done acting like a silly schoolgirl, tell me what the next step is."

She snatched her hand back as if it had been burnt and backed away from him. "_You_ can step back to Scotland," she snapped. "I've no intention of telling you what I am doing next."

She whirled on the spot and Apparated away.

:

Quint was sitting with George and Neville when she appeared on the ivy-covered balcony of one of the three flats they'd taken over that morning.

She walked into the spacious living room as Quint threw up a Muffliato. "Did Caleb arrive yet?"

He gestured toward one of the bedrooms. "He's not feeling social."

She tossed him the handbag and murmured, "Put a trace on that." Turning to George, she asked, "What happened to the woman on the bench?"

"We lost her two blocks east."

"She Apparated before we could get a tracer on her," Quint added.

Hermione nodded and waved a hand at the refrigerator. "Is there anything to eat in this place?"

George shook his head. "Just lots of wine." He lifted the glass in his hand. "Remind me to take a couple of cases home. I think I've fallen in love."

Hermione frowned. "Don't snog your new lover too much, I need you and Neville. One of you needs to go check out Don Pepe's restaurant somewhere on the Avenida Del General Villalba for me, and the other needs to stake out our flat on Covarrubias. Look for any magic users, especially any Chinese. Keep an eye out for a Chinese woman named Ts'ao Daiyu to try and make contact. I'll be heading to Don Pepe's at eight o'clock, so if it looks too hot, I'll need to know."

George set his glass down, and Neville placed the ball he'd been playing with on the table with a final spin. As they were leaving, Snape appeared on the balcony.

Hermione shook her head and ignored him as he slipped into the room and took a look around.

"What's he doing here?" Quint asked.

"Apparently whatever he damn well pleases."

"How did you find us?" Quint asked, placing himself between Hermione and the Professor.

"It wasn't hard; she shouted the location to half the plaza," Snape replied with a drawl.

He walked over to the table and picked up George's glass of wine, sniffing at the contents. He picked up the ball and turned to Quint, rolling it in his long fingers. All he did was raise an eyebrow, but it was far more cutting than anything Hermione could have thought up.

Quint seemed to swell up, his face turning beat red. "It's a tracking device," he snapped, snatching it out of Snape's fingers.

"Stop it, the pair of you," she snapped, canceling the Muffliato.

A door opened across the room and Caleb sauntered out. He stopped when he saw Snape, and the two men held a short staring contest. Caleb lost and turned to Hermione. "I assume you have some questions," he offered in a tired voice.

"I do," she replied. "Let's talk in there."

Caleb nodded and headed back the way he'd come. Behind her, she heard Snape speaking quietly to Quint. "What's in that room?"

She heard the thinly veiled dig when Quint replied, "Nothing but a big, old bed."

Hermione shook her head and slammed the door behind her.

:

"It's good to see you, Granger."

Hermione stalked past him and sat on the only chair in the room, waving her hand at the bed. "I've already had this conversation once today, even if it wasn't the correct you. Let's skip to the pertinent bits, shall we?"

"Who was that person on the bench?"

"I don't know. She or he wanted me to think they were you so they could get close enough to give me some sort of artifact."

"What artifact?"

"I have no idea. It's in my bag out there. I couldn't make heads nor tails of it."

He grimaced and ran his fingers through his long fringe. He dropped down on the edge of the bed facing her, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his fingers together loosely. "You really do look good. I've been worried sick about you."

She glared at him. "Have you? Have you really? No bloody word for ages and then a shoddy postcard? Where the hell have you been? Why did you run? You knew I would have gone to hell and back to protect you!"

"Like you protected Alonso?" he snapped, his words kicking her in the gut. His face scrunched up with remorse. "I'm sorry. That was low. I only meant to point out that you couldn't have protected me, not to hurt you. Look, I wanted to tell you everything, but I didn't think it was safe."

Hermione folded her arms across her stomach and stared down at her knees.

"Granger," Caleb murmured. "You're so kind and naïve. I couldn't—I didn't—" He sighed and looked down at his feet. "Slytherins have trust issues. You must know that. When we're attacked, it isn't our nature to look for help." He grimaced. "It's also not our nature to worry about others, but worrying about you has aged me ten years."

She looked up at him. "Where did you run to?"

He sighed. "My mother's people first. They would have hidden me forever, but I decided to go looking for answers."

"And did you find any?"

He sucked in a breath and then blew it out. "It took me forever to figure out what questions to ask first."

Hermione gave a sharp bark of laughter. "Tell me about it." She looked at him. "Why _did_ you run?"

He nodded obviously pleased this question was finally out in the open. "I stopped at the Leaky for dinner before going home that night. Erina came in while I was there. We talked shop, and she told me about flying around with Osterhoudt. He'd told her his time experiments had produced no results. I thought that was queer since mine had shown definite fluctuations. After dinner, I went to ride their line. The burp was long gone, but the time distortions were still there. Faint, but readable, a mere thousandth of a second delay."

He shook his head. "I worked with Osterhoudt for years in the Time Chamber. He was a kindly, intelligent man. Inquisitive in a way even I wasn't. I'd never known him to lie before, but he'd definitely lied to Erina. I went home, trying to decide how best to handle things. If I accused him outright, perhaps they could pin him to the murders under Veritaserum. However, it occurred to me that if he _and_ Erina had been Obliviated like the others had been, then I would only be tipping the real suspect off."

He shook his head. "When I got home, my place was a wreck. Everything I owned had been systematically destroyed as if they were looking for something. I ran. I didn't even stop to grab clean pants. When I finally caught my breath, I remembered a bit of whispered gossip about Osterhoudt from the Time Chamber."

"What?" she asked, leaning closer.

Caleb lifted his eyes to her. "That he'd been Grindelwald's lover at the time Dumbledore defeated him."

Hermione blinked. "_Oh_."

"Yeah, 'oh'." He shook his head. "Not complete proof that he has a dark side, I know, but it doesn't make him look very innocent either. I didn't want the proof to be the fact that I was dead. I may have Gryffindor tendencies, but I assure you, I'm Slytherin to the core."

She nodded. "That was probably a very good decision."

He sagged with obvious relief. "You think so? I was really worried you would think less of me."

She smiled. "Sometimes going on the run is the only logical choice. So what did you find out?"

"Well, it seems to me that whatever's causing this is a natural phenomena, siphoning the magical flow and causing the burps. It's also obvious to me with only a few readings that it has to do with some kind of time dilation."

"Explain," she said.

"Time dilations are natural occurrences, but extremely rare. There have only been three of them recorded. We don't know how they are caused in nature, but we _were_ able to recreate them in the Time Chamber."

"How?"

"Through the use of various instruments."

"What instruments?"

"Well, Chronosculptors, for one. They can create pinpricks in the time stream and allow us to shift it in a very small area without compromising our current reality."

"How small?"

"The largest we ever successfully manipulated was roughly one-sixteenth of an inch and that ate up a lot of energy."

"Magical energy?"

He nodded, "Among other kinds."

Hermione tilted her head to the side. "What purpose did it serve?"

He stared at her in obvious incomprehension. "To manipulate time?"

"If you can only affect it in an area that small, where's the benefit?"

"What do you mean? The ramifications are staggering! If we had access to more of the raw material, we could have punched a good sized hole through time."

She studied him before saying, "And would you have?"

"Of course! Think of it, Granger! The chance to observe history? Or even the future?"

"Just observe?"

He blinked and pulled himself upright. "Of course. What do you take me for?"

She let that question pass. "What raw material are you talking about?"

He stared at her, and she could feel his reluctance to answer. "Now we are getting into an area where I'm not allowed to tell you anything."

She smirked and reached into her pocket, tossing him her gold badge. "Answer the question."

He stared at it, and then back up at her. She didn't miss the way his eyes didn't seem to match his surprised expression. "How long have you had this?"

She held her hand out, and he lobbed it back toward her. "I'm afraid I can't tell you that."

His face went tight, and his body language changed. "What's going on between you and Snape?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Plenty, if he poisoned your mind against me."

She shook her head. "You did that all on your own. What raw material, Mr. Lloyt?" He stood up, and she pulled out her wand, leveling it at him. "We're not done talking. Not by a long shot. Now cooperate like a good boy, or I shall have to call Severus to join our game. He can rip everything you know from your mind. Trust me, it isn't pretty. I've seen what happens when they put up a fight."

He sat down, blowing out a long breath. "What gave me away?" he said in defeat.

"You did," she sneered. "Until just now, I couldn't pin down your motive. Being a greedy bastard isn't a crime, just pathetic. I admit that your charm and the novelty of having a Slytherin as a friend might have blinded me a good deal. It took me far too long to put together the fact that you and I never met in my office once I installed the foe-glass. Then there's the fact that some Chinese crime syndicate is in Toledo looking for me and a missing Ministry worker. I found it very interesting that despite your claim otherwise, they weren't actually looking for you at all. You've played you game well. You almost pulled it off. Of course, I helped. I wasted too much time actually worrying about you."

He sneered and the look on his face marred any last vestiges of attractiveness he'd had. "You were pathetically easy to play. As for Slytherins, you're in deep trouble if you think you can trust Snape either. He breaks his toys."

She flicked her wand, sending her Patronus scampering under the door. She kept her eyes on his and indulged in a cruel little smile as they both heard her voice in the other room.

"Severus, I need you!"

The bedroom door blew off its hinges, startling Hermione. She turned to see Snape boiling into the room and missed Caleb leaping off the bed and jumping out the window in an explosion of glass.

Quint came rushing in on Snape's heels, and they all ran to the window. Caleb must have nearly hit the pavement before he caught himself. She saw him streaking back up toward their balcony on a broom.

She got off one shot, Snape got off two from where he'd crowded up beside her.

She pulled back and raced for the living room in time to see Caleb leap off the balcony with the cheap handbag in his hand. Someone's curse was a red streak of fire that cut off the tail of his long coat.

When she heard Severus come up behind her, she turned with a snarl. "_What the fuck was that?_" she bellowed at him. "You can't just _walk_ into a goddamned room?"

"You can't just shout through a wall like a normal person?" he snapped back. "I thought you were hurt!"

She growled in frustration and whirled around to pin Quint with a glare. "You _did_ put the tracer in that bag, right?"

He nodded. "One on him too, earlier, when his back was turned."

She nodded. "Track him. Don't get close. Snape, go take care of any Muggles that saw that. I'll fix the mess in here and then we're out of here. Meet by the river."

Quint nodded and grabbed his broom from where it was leaning against the wall. He snatched up the ball from the table and tapped it with his wand before he launched himself through the open doors to the balcony.

She turned and saw Snape was still standing there, staring at her. "What?" she snapped.

He raised a hand and dropped it again. "I thought you were hurt," he said again in a quiet voice, before he turned and headed toward the balcony.

"Severus," she said, stopping him. "Thank you."

He looked over his shoulder with a scowl. "For what?"

She smiled. "For caring."

He turned away and walked out onto the balcony, muttering, "Go to hell, Granger."

As he leaped the rail and dropped slowly out of sight amidst lots of flapping black cloak, she smiled even wider. She might just be getting the hang of Slytherins.

She turned and began repairing the shattered door.

* * *

><p>:<p>

According to Google Earth, there really are red brick apartments on Calle Luxemburgo, in Toledo, Spain, and you can see the ivy hanging off the third-floor corner balcony at the back. Also, Don Pepe's is not on the Avenida Del General Villalba, it's on McCarter Hwy in Newark, NJ. But they do have a paella to die for... *nods*


	18. Chapter 18

**AN:** Sorry for the delay. I slept in today. o.O

* * *

><p>Hermione walked into the restaurant as casually as she could, considering. Neville, George, and Snape were here somewhere already, but she didn't see them. Quint was still out tracking Caleb. Hermione knew she would need to sit down and try and digest everything that had happened soon, but now wasn't the time. She needed her wits about her. Her brains were her best asset, and yet it seemed as if from the start, her ability to think things through had been compromised by the stress and anxiety she'd been under.<p>

She was shown to a seat by a harried young man and handed a menu. She looked around one more time before turning to the menu. She was starving and more than a little ready for some nerve-soothing binge eating.

A waitress came over and set a glass of wine down in front of her. She looked up at the woman with confusion. "Yo no ordené esto."

The woman smiled at her pitiful Spanish accent. "This is a gift," she said in flawless English. "From the man over there."

Hermione looked up craning her head to see where the woman was pointing, but there were several men looking at her and smiling with varying degrees of invitation, and she didn't know which one the woman was referring to. She reached for the glass to hold it up in vague thanks and realized her mistake too late. She felt the familiar tug behind her navel and gave a shout. She heard several answering shouts before the portkey snatched her away.

She landed hard on her hip with an angry yell and immediately rolled to the side and pulled out her wand.

Before her stood Ts'ao Daiyu with her hands held out in a gesture of peace. "I am sorry, Miss Granger. This was a very poor way to treat you, but I needed to speak with you."

Hermione looked around and recognized the hilltop. The view of Toledo across the river was even more beautiful at night. She was back atop the Cerro del Bú.

"Who activated the portkey?" she asked.

"My cousin. He will be coming here shortly, just so you know to expect him."

Hermione nodded. "Can I tell my people I'm alright?"

"Not if one of them is Caleb Lloyt."

"No, he's not one of my people." Hermione reached into her pocket and wrapped her hand around her old D.A. coin.

"Why didn't you speak to me in London?" she asked.

"There were too many eyes… on me and on you. Your Ministry has been riddled with spies since Myanmar."

"Is that why you left?"

The woman sighed and dragged her hand through her short, choppy hair. "Yes and no. I was sent to spy as well. I was ordered to disrupt any progress while finding out as much as I could."

"What made you turn against your own people?"

The other woman snarled, "They were never my people. The woman you met in Myanmar, Zhou Li, was my aunt by marriage. I cared for her very much. She taught me many things, and when all of this started, she gave me a lot of information. I was forced into helping the Syndicate when my son was taken. As soon as our Aurors sent word he was safe again, they had no hold on me. I fled. I needed to get in touch with you, but I thought I should get you out of the country first. You seemed to trust Lloyt, and no one knew where he was, so I sent the postcard, forging his handwriting with a spell. I thought it was a good gamble. I am not so good at impersonating men, so I thought I would make myself look like him impersonating a woman. I wasn't expecting him to actually show up. I _am_ sorry."

There was a small series of pops and Neville, George, and Snape appeared, along with a Chinese man who stepped in close to his cousin with his wand held ready.

Hermione waved her people back and Ts'ao spoke quickly to her cousin.

"We don't have much time," Ts'ao said. "The syndicate will be looking for you everywhere."

"Tell me what you gave me this afternoon."

"A key."

"To what?"

"We don't know. My aunt said it was to be given to the water singers, but we didn't know who they were."

Hermione kept silent on the subject. "What happens after that?"

"They will show you how to find the nest."

"What nest?"

"Where time will be born… or stillborn."

Hermione sighed. "Does everything have to sound so ominous?"

Ts'ao gave a quiet laugh. "I said as much to my aunt. She told me that only echoes of the original events remain, and ominous sounds last longer."

"She said something similar to me—about ripples and then only the memory of the ripples." She sighed and looked at the other woman. "Is there anything else I need to know?"

The woman nodded. "You are looking for something that can change time. The_ dagé_ will lead you there." She stepped forward. "Listen carefully, this is the thing my aunt would want you to know. The seeker must survive. If they die before the appointed hour, then all life is forfeit. Many think you are the seeker. Those who are after you do not want you dead, but everyone close to you is a threat to them. The last thing she told me was this: whatever you find, you _must_ use it. It will continue to collect magic until it bursts, and if it does, all of creation will be snuffed out like a candle. However, the more you make it do, the greater the chances of harm. If you use it in a small way, it should suffice.

"Trust carefully, because many more are willing to kill for this, and even those you trust will be tempted." The wind picked up and Ts'ao darted a nervous glance around. Even her cousin began to look uneasy.

Hermione exchanged a look with Snape, and he gave her a subtle nod and began circling the perimeter of the hilltop.

"Our time is up, I fear. Good luck, Miss Granger. Find the water singers, whoever they are. If you have any questions, you only need to—"

"Granger, _DOWN!_"

Hermione dropped to her face and felt a burning heat scorch up her back. Rolling over and over across the ground, she waited until she was several feet away before she leapt to her feet and took off. Behind her she heard screams and shouts, and felt the detonation of several spells.

A flash of green hit the ground two feet away, and she began a low moan in her throat as she ran full tilt toward the cliff edge of the hilltop. She didn't even slow down as she launched herself into the air and plummeted toward the rocks below. She twisted in midair and Apparated away.

She was still keening softly as she hit the ground on the other side of the city. Jumping to her feet, she looked around but saw no one. She dug into her pocket for the coin that was burning her thigh and saw the message was from Quint.

'Lloyt's place under attack. Fiendfyre. Chinese. Orders?'

She palmed the coin and sent him a reply telling him to hide and watch, or cut and run if spotted. She looked around again before spinning into another turn. She landed in a copse of trees up the road from their last covert location in Toledo. As she started up the street, she heard sirens. Ducking out of sight, she crept along until she saw the flames. Fiendfyre hissed and spat from the windows to the entire building. She cursed and spun into another turn.

She landed down the street from the flat on Calle Luxemburgo, and as soon as she saw more flames she twisted away again.

This time, she splinched herself.

:

Hermione woke up on a raggedy couch with her foot propped up on a pillow as Snape poured dittany on her toes. He'd already dosed her with several potions, and she was feeling no pain. Literally and figuratively.

"I'm starving," she said.

"You ate soup an hour ago."

"I'm still starving."

"It's your metabolism. I can make you more soup."

She wrinkled her nose. Tinned soup was a poor substitute for paella. "I'll live," she muttered. Her mind drifted to the next thought in line and she sighed. "Who did we lose?" she asked.

"I already told you," he muttered.

"Tell me again. You have to, I'm in charge."

He scowled and turned to her. "You've pushed your luck about as far as it will go tonight, Granger."

She bit her lip and felt the tears sting her eyes. "Just tell me."

He sighed. "None of ours," he said gently. "The woman died. Her cousin survived. Quint says Caleb Lloyt is dead. We killed four of theirs before you got away. That was good of you, by the way. You were the target. After you popped away, they lost interest and started Apparating. I think Longbottom clipped another before he got away, so they might have lost five."

She sighed and closed her eyes. "Someone always dies for me. First Alonso, then Farzeen, now Daiyu. I'm like a mass murderer…"

Snape looked at her with a gentle expression. "You've only been responsible for the one, haven't you?" he said in a quiet voice. "Tell me about the Turk."

Hermione swallowed thickly. "I ordered it," she said in a flat voice. "He killed my friend, and he almost killed his own aunt. It was her idea, but it was my call."

He nodded. "I thought as much."

She looked at him. "Why?"

He wrapped her foot back up. "I recognized the look in your eye."

"Have you ever ordered someone's death?"

He shook his head. "I never had that much authority." His eyes took on a thousand-yard stare as he said, "I had to choose who to save and who not."

She nodded in understanding and reached out to clasp his hand. He stilled, staring at their hands. A silence stretched out and thickened as he stroked his thumb across her knuckles. It was broken by the chiming of a ward.

A door banged open down the hall.

He turned, wand out, and placed himself in front of her until they heard Quint speaking with George. Neville walked into the room first, carrying a case of wine.

"Geez," George said from behind him looking around. "Casa Snape is a dump. Couldn't you find anything better?"

"Your accommodations might have been nicer, but they were hardly secure, were they? No one will find this place in a thousand years of searching," he replied with a sneer. "Well?" he added, with an impatient snap.

"I took samples of the remains to process back home for confirmation," Quint said, "but Fiendfyre doesn't leave much behind. The tests I performed showed it to be him though."

George piped up with a cheeky grin. "He's dead for sure. The body was charred to a crisp, but the tracer was still where Quint put it. Missing tooth, melted gold in the back of the throat… Caleb Lloyt is no more—Ow!" George grabbed his arm where Quint had punched him. "What the hell was that for, you numpty?"

Hermione didn't wait to hear the answer. She lifted her foot off the pillow and got up off the couch. "We leave as soon as Snape says I can travel."

"Granger," Quint piped up. "The other tracer is moving. The one on the bag. That means the syndicate agents have it, and we can track them. Do you want me to go after them?"

"No. They'll find out soon enough it was a decoy and either dump it, or use it to lure us into a trap." She looked past Snape to the glowing, smoky sky in the window beyond him. She could still hear sirens in the background. Toledo was burning with Fiendfyre, and no fire company would be able to stop it. It made her sick to think about.

"It's alright, Hermione," Neville said quietly. "The Spanish Aurors are crawling all over the place out there. It's under control."

She gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you."

She hobbled away towards the bedroom in the tiny house that Snape had commandeered when he'd arrived. He'd warded it to the point of being nearly Secret Kept and stocked it with just about every potion one could imagine. His precautions for what had been intended as a day trip showed the level of paranoia he'd reached in his time as a spy. How heavily they had relied on his paranoia when everything had gone tits up showed how bad things had become. Snape had used a good portion of his potions stores on her after Neville had found her bleeding in the alley. George had gone back for her toes when she'd managed to gasp out where she'd left them. Snape had brought her here and spelled her toes back on with a song.

A firm hand gripped her elbow, and she looked up into Snape's scowling face. "You shouldn't be moving yet," he snapped in a quiet voice as he guided her. She was grateful for the assistance. She was having a hard enough time walking in a straight line even without the injury.

"I won't need toes for much longer," she laughed as he opened the bedroom door for her.

"What the hell does that mean?" He must have grown tired of watching her efforts because he scooped her up and all but dumped her on the bed.

She tilted her head toward him as she elbowed her way toward the only pillow. "You don't really believe I'll survive this, do you? You heard the prophecy. I fail in the end. 'At the appointed time,' according to Daiyu. Someone else saves the world—or not—based on me somehow."

He frowned at her. "Failing doesn't have to be fatal."

She shook her head wincing at his stupidity. "Do you really think I'll let the world come to an end while I'm still alive to do something about it? Not a chance."

She plumped the pillow behind her head and looked back up at him. The light streaming in the window from the Neon signs outside made him look deathly pale.

She reached out and took his hand again. It felt colder. "Tell me a story," she said, tugging him down to sit on the bed next to her.

"What the hell do I look like?" he snapped.

She smiled. "I've been trying to figure that out, myself. Sometimes I think you look like a panther. But that's never quite right. Sometimes I think you look like a thestral. Not exactly romantic, I know, but they have a beauty about them as well and are terribly misunderstood. Sometimes you remind me of a coiled dragon. It's unclear if you are sleeping or faking it to lure the unsuspecting. Do you know what I mean?"

He didn't reply, just shook his head from side to side very slowly.

"Tell me a story," she repeated.

"What would you like to hear?" he said in a dry rasp.

She smiled wickedly. "Tell me who Gertie is."

He frowned and pulled his hand back. "That's not a good story, Granger."

"It's the one I want to hear. It's the end of the world, Snape. All stories are good stories when they can only be told one more time."

He folded his arms across his chest. "You won't like this story. It's the type of story Gryffindors detest."

She stifled a yawn. "Just tell me the bloody story, Snape. Who's Gertie?"

He tilted his head to the side and stared hard at her. "Gertie was two years older than I, and the first girl I ever slept with," he said with obvious discomfort.

Hermione couldn't help the stupid grin she felt spreading across her face. "Was she pretty?"

"She was lovely," he replied. "She was also Caleb Lloyt's girlfriend."

The smile froze before disintegrating. "Before or after you slept with her?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

He pursed his lips in distaste at her question. "_During_."

She frowned and shook her head. "You're right. I don't like your stories. In fact, I think I've had rather enough stories for tonight."

She grabbed at the blankets she was lying on and pulled until she'd folded half of them over her. "Thank you very much for healing me. I am very grateful. Look, I can already wiggle them. You do very good work, Professor. Now, if you will excuse me, I would like to sleep. Good night."

After a pause, he stood up without a word and left, closing the drapes, and shutting the door softly behind him.

Hermione pulled her wand out of her sleeve and slipped it under her pillow before she closed her eyes and let the potions carry her away.

* * *

><p>:<p>

You knew she'd ask that sooner or later...


	19. Chapter 19

**AN:** I think this is my favorite chapter. I do.

* * *

><p>Hermione had no idea what time it was when she was woken up by a hand pressed against her mouth. Still groggy from the potions, she nevertheless reacted quickly, if not as quick as her usual response time. Her fist came up and connected with a meaty thud against the side of her assailant's skull.<p>

Whoever it was collapsed against the bedside table and slid to the floor, dragging the lamp off with a crash. She snatched her wand out from under the pillow and shot them with a stunner. She had a Binding Spell on the tip of her tongue when she peeked over the side of the bed. The intermittent flashing of the neon sign outside, filtered through the crack in the drapes, revealed Snape in a heap on the floor next to the bed. There was raucous laughter from the sitting room.

She cast a quick Ennervate, and he groaned and opened his eyes.

"What the bloody hell are you doing!" she hissed.

He slowly climbed up to his knees, holding onto the bed and the table and shaking his head to clear it. "Needed to tell you something." He looked back over his shoulder at the closed door. "That fuckwit told me you scream when you're woken up. Said I should cover your mouth."

Hermione almost laughed, but she was too busy watching Snape trying to stand up. He reeked of wine. "Are you _drunk?_"

"You're fuckin' right I am."

She aimed her wand at him again. "Get out. Whatever you want, you can tell me in the morning."

He moved so fast she didn't even get a chance to squeak. One moment he was on his knees looking like he didn't know down from up, and the next moment he was sprawled across her, pinning her wand arm to the bed. She winced at the wine fumes.

"I'm not done telling you your bloody story, Granger."

"I don't like your stories."

"I don't give a toss; you're going to hear the rest of this one." His eyes seemed to have trouble focusing. He kept pulling his head back as far as he could and looking down his nose at her.

"Fine. Tell me your stupid story and get the hell out."

He climbed up onto the bed until he was crushing her underneath him. "It's the rest of Gertie's story," he hissed into her face.

She twisted her nose away. "I somehow guessed that."

He grunted and let go of her arms, propping himself up on elbows planted on either side of her rib cage. When he was more or less settled he began to tell his tale.

"Gertie was a Hufflepuff that Caleb got pregnant in her seventh year. He'd long since graduated, but he liked to stalk the Hufflepuff girls on Hogsmeade weekends. She'd been stupid enough to believe him when he'd told her you couldn't get pregnant the first time. She came to me to brew her a potion to take care of it, since she'd heard I did such things.

"It wasn't true, but by that point they'd told so many tales about me even I started to believe them. I was only a fifth-year and easily swayed by anyone thinking I was clever. She told me Caleb refused to marry her, and her parents would throw her out, so I made her potion. At the time, I thought people would think of me as a hero, but instead, I only confirmed their opinion that I was a morally dubious potions' hack." He frowned at a memory but then sneered. "Anyway, she rewarded me with a kiss. My first."

Hermione sagged underneath him. "What a pig."

He glared, rearing back to better see her expression. "Me or him?"

"Him at the moment, you're in dangerous territory."

He scowled and reached down to shove one of her legs out of the way, settling himself between. She didn't protest—it was more comfortable than having his knees digging into her, and he was obviously caught up in his tale.

"He took her back soon after, and I was so grateful for my pathetic little kiss that I kept her in contraceptive potions after that. The next time she came to me it was for bruise paste. Then murtlap… dittany…

"You see, despite being pretty and kind and gentle, Gertie was poor as a church mouse and a bit stupid. Lloyt probably cared for her in his way—after all, he never dumped her—but he sure as fuck wasn't going to marry her, and every time she brought it up, he'd slap her around."

"Oh, gods…"

"It got worse. As his many brainless schemes to get rich failed again and again, he grew more vicious.

"Every time she would come to me, we would talk for longer and longer, and she would reward me when she was healed by being friendlier and friendlier. It never really meant anything for either of us aside from the physical enjoyment to be had. She taught me the rules of engagement as far as that goes, and I gave her a sympathetic ear."

He blinked, and his eyes seemed to focus on an area just over her shoulder. "Eventually she would come to me even when she wasn't hurt… just to talk, which always led to other things. We were friends of a sort. We shared a commonality in being the walking wounded. You see, I was the only person who could understand why she _stayed_ with him." He shook his head. "What a twisted little fucker I was…" He looked beyond her, beyond the pillow under her, into a far distant past.

Hermione reached up and cupped his face in her hand. "Oh, Severus…"

He flinched away and his eyes stabbed at her in anger. "I haven't _finished_."

She pulled her hand away. "Then finish."

"The last time she came to me for help, I was twenty-two. She'd been beaten to a pulp. It was the weekend after my mother died. Lily was dead, and I was chained to Dumbledore." He shook his head. "It wasn't a good time. When she showed up on my doorstep looking nearly unrecognizable, I suddenly realized what a bloody fool I'd been. I spent the entire weekend healing her and lecturing on why she needed to leave him. In the end, she did. However, as part of her grand exit, she told Lloyt that I'd been sleeping with her for years and that I was… _superior_, so to speak."

"Oh, dear."

His eyes darted to hers, and he nodded.

"What happened?"

He gave her an impatient eyeroll. "What do you _think_ happened? He needed to defend his Slytherin honor, didn't he?"

"Oh, gods. Were you hurt?"

"Granger, he was a pathetic loser who beat up innocent _Hufflepuffs." _ He scowled magnificently. "I was a fucking _Death Eater_." The look in his eyes grew dark and terrible. "_I_ gave him the scar on his face _and_ the missing tooth."

Hermione smiled, despite knowing it was in poor taste. "And what happened to Gertie?"

Snape's face fell and grew sad. "She became a prostitute down in Knockturn Alley."

"Oh, shit…"

"Indeed. I haven't laid eyes on her in twelve years. I've no idea if she's even still alive."

She grimaced, lost for something to say.

He just shook his head. "I told you it wasn't a good story."

She sighed and pushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. "Have you ever told it before?"

"Never."

"I'm glad you told me."

His head reared back again. "What the fuck for?"

She smiled, shaking her head. "Because, now I have a little piece of you all to myself to carry with me when I go."

His face froze, and then he looked so upset she was struck speechless. He leaned down and hissed, "You're not going to die, you silly cow!"

"That would be nice, but I've more or less accepted the fact that my time is running out. I'm more concerned with trying to limit how many innocent people I take with me."

"Stop! Just stop! Don't you understand? _You're_ the one with the power to make the prophecy come true or not! That shite about Potter could just as easily been about Longbottom, or any number of children born that day! The Dark Lord was the one that made it about Potter! It only said you'd _fail_. If you believe you'll fail by dying, you _will._"

She tilted her head to the side. "And what would that mean to you?"

He swallowed, and for just a moment she caught an anguish on his face that made her heart stop. "I won't let you die," he said in a rasp.

She stared hard into his eyes. "_Why?_"

He shifted until he was looking directly down on her. "Because it would be stupid and pointless."

She laughed. "Well, thank you for that. I was rather hoping it would be heroic and poignant."

"You are _not_ amusing," he snarled.

"And any further discussion of this will get us nowhere." She sighed. "Go to bed, Severus."

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, they were gentle and sad. "Hermione," he whispered.

She tilted her head to the side, "Hmm?"

He shifted onto one elbow and brought his other hand to her face, stroking her cheek with a feather-light touch. "_Ask_…"

She sighed. She knew what he was saying. He wanted her, but for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to say it. By telling her to ask him, he was basically asking her. It was too twisted for words.

She wanted to cave in, wanted to ask, but she couldn't. Hermione was far too self-aware to fool herself that this would be another meaningless shag. Her heart was in danger, and that would ruin everything. How would she deal with her lack of future if she had a reason to stay in the present? Was this his betrayal? That she would fail because she decided to stay with him instead of running off to save the world? She wondered if he even understood what he was asking with his one word demand.

He shifted his hips, pressing his hardening cock against her gently. "Ask," he murmured in a deep, sexy voice.

She smiled at him and returned his caress, feeling the rasp of stubble on his jaw before craning her neck up and kissing him gently. His eyes fluttered closed and a small sound of delight escaped him as he kissed her back with rapidly escalating intensity. She pulled her head away and swiped her thumb across his lips. "No."

He froze, and then his head reared back again. "No?"

She chuckled at his affronted tone. "I'm tired and injured, and you're drunk. It's the middle of the night and tomorrow will be hectic. _No_. I will not be manipulated into giving you what you want just because you're too weird to _tell_ me what you want." She planted her good foot down on the bed and shifted her hip. He flailed as he tumbled off her onto the other side of the bed. "You're very tempting, but I need sleep. Go to bed."

He snorted, and when she looked, she could almost swear he was pouting. "Fine," he muttered rolling back over and crawling up the bed to share the pillow.

"Snape, I meant your own bed."

He flopped down next to her and threw his arm across her chest, pulling her up against him. "You forget; this is _my_ bolt-hole. Therefore, it _is_ my bed."

He shifted around until she heard two thumps as his boots hit the floor and then he fell still. She shook her head and rolled onto her side to get comfortable. Snape slid closer and pressed himself against her arse.

"Stop that," she said.

He huffed and backed away a fraction of an inch.

It occurred to her that, once again, he wrapped his arms around her, and she totally lost track of where her wand was. It would seem she didn't need a wand under a pillow when she had a Snape in the bed. She smiled, pulled his arm up until his hand was tucked under her chin, and let herself drift away.

She was just dropping off when she felt his kiss on her temple.

:

Hermione woke up blinking. She was stiff and sore and her bladder was screaming. She stretched carefully and then sat up and looked around.

She snorted when she found Snape.

He was lying on his stomach, one arm clutching the stolen pillow like a teddy bear. His other arm hung over the side of the bed, and his face was turned away from her and obscured by his long hair. Except for the boots, he was still fully dressed, and the overall effect all made him look like so much melted black candle wax.

She carefully crawled over him and lifted a lock of his lank, greasy hair to find his face. He had a rather spectacular bruise on his temple, and he'd been drooling.

One of his eyes slid open, revealing a dramatic study in black and bloodshot. "You have several options here, Granger," he rasped. "You can kill me, for which I would actually be grateful, you can fuck off, for which I would be even more grateful, or you can find me a Headache Remedy, for which I will follow you to the ends of the earth."

She giggled. "Has anyone ever told you you're an adorable idiot?"

He closed his eye. "No."

"Well, I've just done."

She dropped his hair back into place and rolled away from him.

Slipping out to find the loo, she instead found a sitting room full of tortured souls. George was curled up on the floor cuddling an empty wine bottle. Neville was on the couch, looking around as if trying to orientate on a noise only he could hear, and Quint was sitting on the dining table holding his head.

"Did you actually sleep on the table?" she asked. He winced and gestured for her to lower her voice. "Christ, how much did you all drink last night?"

George lifted his head from where it had been resting on his arm and muttered, "Lots. My new love is a cruel mistress."

"In that case, it's time to end the relationship. Neville, be a love and start handing out potions." She jerked her thumb back at the bedroom. "Don't forget his nibs in there."

"Why do I have to be a love? Ask man's best friend over there."

"Oi! Shut it!"

Hermione smirked as Quint grabbed his head again. "Because until you cure the professor's hangover, there's too high a chance our puppy won't survive Snape seeing him after the prank he pulled last night, and I still need him."

George laughed. "Tell us, did you punch him in the throat? We've got money riding on this."

Hermione planted her hands on her hips. "And did it not occur to you lot that I might have easily killed him? It's all well and good that we're in a safe location, but I was a bit too highly-strung to be the object of your amusement." She threw them a disgusted look. "We have a Portkey to catch. Get moving."

She shook her head and went to the bathroom, sadistically shutting the door with a much louder bang than was strictly necessary.

:

Hermione stepped through the Floo into the sitting room of Grimmauld Place. Harry, Ron and Arthur were there, but the rest of the team wasn't. Snape, Neville, Quint, and George followed her through.

"Well?" asked Ron.

"Caleb Lloyt is dead," she said. "So is Ts'ao Daiyu and a good number of worker bees for a crime syndicate run out of China."

Harry grimaced, running his hand through his hair and muttering. Ron noticed her limp and swore under his breath, glaring daggers at Quint.

"We've got bad news as well," Harry said.

She winced. "Tell me."

Harry and Ron exchanged a look but then Ron took a deep breath and said, "It's Viktor."

Her stomach turned to lead.

"He's okay, but we found him wandering on the Millennium Bridge yesterday. His mind has been tampered with. He didn't recognize either of us and swears he's never heard of you. He's on his way back to Bulgaria now, where he'll probably spend a week in hospital until they can reverse some of the damage. My guess is whoever it was wanted to know all about you and took the information from him. Literally."

"Oh, my god," she whispered.

Arthur took her elbow and helped her into a chair. "He's not hurt, dear," he said.

She nodded distractedly. Not hurt, but not aware of their past, either. She turned to Quint, who was still grimacing at the news. "_There's_ your betrayal," she snapped.

He nodded and sighed.

"Did you find any clues?" Arthur asked, obviously trying to deflect what was brewing.

Hermione snorted and dug into her pocket, handing Harry the alabaster box. He opened it, but closed it quickly at the piercing screech that filled the air.

He nodded several times, deep in thought, before looking down at her. "We're going to need gillyweed."

The two of them looked over at Snape, who was staring at Harry with distaste. "Fine," he snapped.

:

* * *

><p>I love a drunk Snape. I do.<p> 


	20. Chapter 20

AN: Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed!

* * *

><p>Harry and Hermione left the others in the sitting room and headed up to the bathroom on the third floor. She gave him a rundown of their adventures in Toledo while they waited for the tub to fill.<p>

"The question is, how many other Caleb Lloyts and 'crime syndicates' are out there?" Harry said.

"That was my thought. It's why I told Quint not to bother pursuing them. We could get completely bogged down with trying to apprehend all the people working against us and never get anywhere. The most efficient way to deal with this is to end it. I need to find the crystal."

"Agreed." Harry shut off the tap. "Time to listen to the clue."

The two of them were on their knees facing the tub. At his signal, she sucked in a deep breath, and they plunged their heads into the water. She popped the lid off the alabaster box and let her mouth pop open in surprise at the deep song that burst forth. It was huge. Operatic. _Basso profundo, _if she had to use a label. However, the language was something she'd never heard before.

She pulled her head out of the tub and swiped at her face as she turned to Harry. He was shaking his head.

"That was unexpected." He gestured at the water. "The tournament egg sang in a much lighter voice and it was in English, once you heard it under water."

Hermione squeezed at her hair. "I suspect this box is older than English. And who knows who actually recorded the message? It might not have been one of the merpeople at all, just a message for them."

Harry nodded. "That's possible."

They both shoved their heads back in the water and listened until their lungs were close to bursting.

"It repeats," she said when they'd come up gasping.

"Yeah, I caught that. You're the linguist, any ideas?"

Hermione blotted her face on the towel. "No, but I don't actually know what native mer-whatever sounds like."

Harry grimaced. "Nor I. I just know what they sound like when they're angry, but I can't really remember anything particular."

"That might not help even if you did. This box could be so old that their language has shifted in the interim."

He blinked a drop of water out of his eye. "What if they don't understand it?"

She nodded, sharing his concern. "Or what if they do, and they don't want to help?"

Harry waved his hand. "Don't worry about that. If it's meant to be, it's meant to be. That's the only nice thing about a damned prophecy."

She shook her head. "Perhaps, but your prophecy only said you _might_ fail. Mine says I will."

She shoved her head back in the water to end the conversation.

* * *

><p>Quint showed up at her desk the next day under the pretext of more flirting. Dragging out their misbegotten courtship gave them a reason to speak with each other if something came up. Judging by the intensity of Quint's coffee sales-pitch, it was important. She usually took a bit of pleasure in her public set downs, but some of the other women in the office were beginning to feel sorry for him. They'd begun urging Hermione to give him another chance, so she made a show of giving in and agreed to a quick cup of coffee. She grabbed her handbag and followed him out to the lift. This time, they got a car to themselves.<p>

"Any word on who attacked Viktor?" she asked as he set his wards on their privacy.

"There's no improvement yet, but they're hopeful. We still don't have any clues as to who he ran into or what he told them, but we suspect that's how our syndicate knew you were in Toledo. We're checking alibis for our revolving cast of suspects, but that doesn't rule out accomplices and I'm not ruling out Osterhoudt. However, we _did_ get the test results in on the tissue sample from Toledo."

Hermione curled her hands around the strap of her handbag. "And?"

"It was him," he replied. "The body was fairly incinerated, mind, but what DNA they did manage to recover was a match to within 98.67%. There's not enough room for doubt there. No innocent Spaniard with the same gold tooth is going to come up with that DNA match."

Hermione nodded slowly and stared at the walls. Quint reached out and placed his hand gently on her shoulder. "Are you alright?"

She shrugged. "I don't know, honestly. I had thought somehow that it wasn't him. It seems such a stupid way for him to die, 'burnt to death by a crime syndicate.' "

Quint snorted. "He was dead before the fire was lit, if that means anything. Broken neck. As for the way of it, from what I understand he was a stupid man."

Hermione shook her head and sighed. "I honestly don't know _what_ he was. In the end, he was just a greedy bastard. According to Snape, he always was."

Quint lightly grabbed her arm as the lift stopped. "Do you trust Snape?"

Hermione stared at her feet. Eventually she looked up at him and grimaced. "I don't know if I actually do, or I just need to." She looked at him. "I need to trust, Quint. I need to be surrounded by people I know I can count on. I honestly can't say how much my faith in Snape is based on fact, or desperate hope. I know that in his past no one trusted him, and yet he _always_ did the right thing. Even when he didn't want to."

Quint winced and cancelled his spells.

:

"Miss Granger! How lovely to see you! What can I do for you?"

"Mr. Osterhoudt, I was wondering if I could ask you some questions."

"Of course! Come in! Here, have a seat."

She took the squashy chair he'd offered and the cup of tea he pushed at her. The tea looked murky, and she pretended to take a sip as she waited for him to be seated. He'd been given a small office on the seventh level, but had managed to make it rather cozy. There was a cluttered desk and lots of comfortable touches, like crafts that looked like the work of a child and colorful, if amateur, paintings on the wall.

She pointed to a misshapen mug on a shelf, a remarkable blend of lime green and magenta. "I assume the maker is related to you?"

He smiled and walked over to pick it up, turning it so she could see it better. "My nephew. Well, great-great, if you want full disclosure." He placed it back and turned to a wall. "Those ponies there were painted by a niece. Dreadfully indulgent, I know, carting them all with me, but I do like to keep their little tokens close." He headed over to the other chair. "I missed a lot, working as an Unspeakable all those years. I kept to myself, even avoiding my family, because it was always so awkward. I find I'm rather over-compensating in my old age."

"So you're not an Unspeakable in Bulgaria?" she asked, feigning ignorance.

"Heavens, no. I just write textbooks these days." He sat down with a slight groan and picked up his own tea. "Now," he said, once he'd made himself comfortable. "I assume you have a question about time?"

She gave him a small smile and set her tea aside untouched. "No. That's all for the likes of Mr. Philips and the committee. I'm off the case, as they say. I have some questions about a former coworker of yours, Caleb Lloyt."

"Lloyt? What about him?"

"I was hoping you could tell me about him. You see, I've just heard that he's died somewhere on the continent."

"Oh, how tragic," the man responded.

"He and I had—well, we'd been planning to go on a date together when he disappeared." Hermione bit her lip. "I feel like I didn't get a chance to really know him. I thought he was rather charming, but one or two people have said some things to make me question his character. I guess I just wanted you to tell me what he was like. You know, an impartial opinion?" She gave him a hopeful look, and he smiled.

"I understand. It can be so hard to sort through these types of feelings." He sat back and stared up at the wall. "I'm not sure I know what to say," he began, pausing to sip his tea. "I doubt you're interested in his research. You probably want to know more about his personality. Let's see… Caleb was a bit of a ladies' man, if I recall. He always had some girl chasing after him, and they always seemed to want him more than he wanted them, if you know what I mean. There was one girl in another area of the department who was always dancing attendance on him. Mary, I believe her name was. I think he strung her along shamefully. But that was years ago. I'm sure as he matured he changed. People do, after all. Aside from his flirtatious nature, he didn't have many other faults that I could tell you about. He was a good sort. He took his work seriously, although I think he grew a bit restless toward the end. I think he was a bit fed up."

"Why?"

"Oh, well, without going into details, I would say it was intellectual fatigue." The old man smiled at her. "It happens to researchers when they throw all of their effort into studying one thing and then have their research either end, or even worse, fall apart. It can be terribly difficult to muster the enthusiasm to start in on a new subject."

Hermione tilted her head to the side. "Did that happen to you?"

He laughed. "Several times. The last being when I came to work one day and found my entire career had been destroyed by that Dark Lord of yours." His eyes twinkled as he looked at her, and she had the distinct feeling he, like Caleb, knew her part in it. "I was at loose ends for a while after that, but," he gestured at the walls, "as I said, there was a silver lining. I'm far more contented with my life now."

She smiled with an amusement that she didn't actually feel. "Caleb said much the same. He told me he was tired of being chained to a desk."

Osterhoudt bobbed his head. "I always thought he was a bit young to work in that department. It's a hard life for a young person."

Hermione did her best to not let her reaction show. Instead, she gave him a puzzled frown. "Can you tell me why they closed your department? I mean, why not just rebuild?"

He looked at her over the rim of his cup. "We had no raw material for our experiments. What little we had, we recycled endlessly, but the last of it was lost in the destruction."

"What raw material?" she asked with as much restraint as she could muster.

"Chronominium," he replied.

She shook her head. "Chrono…?"

He laughed. "It is a magic substance used to manipulate time."

"Oh! Like a time-turner. I used one in school one year."

"Did you?" he said with open interest. "How often?"

She grimaced, remembering. "Daily, it seemed. It was my third year and I was trying to be even more of a swot than I already was. My head of house gave it to me so I could take more classes."

He tilted his head to the side. "And how much did it age you?"

She shook her head. "I tried to calculate that once but it was a bit difficult. I only used it for one or two hours a day for about eight months. I think I aged myself by a week at the most."

He sat back against the cushions of his chair and nodded his head slowly. "It's a shame you're not involved with the committee anymore, Miss Granger."

"Why?"

"Well, other than my missing your enthusiasm…" He gave her a smile. "I say it because I truly feel that whatever is going on has to do with time, and I believe you have an affinity for it."

"An affinity for time?"

He nodded again. "Time-turners can be very difficult to use. The fact that you managed one so easily as a child is a sign of your cleverness, no doubt, as I can surmise from your teacher having such faith in you. However, it could also be that you have a predisposition that makes it easier for you to move through time."

She blinked. "Is that possible?"

"Not without the power source."

"This Chronominium?"

"Precisely. It is the sand inside a Time-turner."

"Oh, I see." She did her best to strike a balance between interested and not, but wasn't sure how well she did.

He leaned forward. "Is there no way Mr. Philips will let you back on the committee? I really do believe you were an asset."

She wrinkled her nose regretfully. "No. It's office politics. I'm sure you heard that he was pushed out of his job by whoever killed those people. He resents the air I breathe now because they gave his job to me."

Osterhoudt tsked with disappointment. "Such a waste."

Hermione laughed. "Honestly, between you and me, I'm far happier not being involved. Like you said, there is more to life."

He didn't laugh with her. "Yes, but as we know, there are those willing to kill to solve this mystery." He gestured at the art on the walls. "Those of us involved in the study are all at risk. I would be rather annoyed were you or I to die before this mystery is solved. No more awful paintings from loved ones, and no more gentlemen to feel you didn't get to know well enough."

She met his eyes and felt his sincerity. His face brightened and then he added, "However, if the event _is_ a time dilation, then I believe there is a chance that we will have a new supply of Chronominium when we it's over. The fact that another event arrives within a decade of us losing the last of it, smacks of something higher than coincidence. If that is the case, I shall come pestering you to take up an Apprenticeship with me. It would be good to pass on my knowledge to someone, and I think it could be fun to start up the experiments again. And, as I said, I suspect you have an affinity for the subject."

Hermione shook her head. "But I'd be even younger than Caleb. You said yourself that you thought he was too young."

"Yes, but he never had an affinity for the subject. His experiments always seemed to collapse on him." Osterhoudt waved his hand in dismissal. "He was a diligent researcher, but he was only even interested in one thing, really."

"What?"

He shook his head. "He never told us. We were all a rather secretive lot, I'm afraid. I know it had to do with pin-pointing moments in the past."

"You mean, going back to specific moments? That wasn't very difficult with a Time-turner. Granted, you were limited to a couple of hours, but you could be very accurate."

Osterhoudt shook his head. "No, I think he was more interested in opening pinpoints in the fabric of time without actually traveling himself."

"Oh! Like windows? To watch events?"

"More like peepholes. None of his experiments were very large. I think the largest was only the diameter of my pinky finger."

She frowned. "Or a wandtip?"

"Well, yes, about that size, although the dilation would inevitably collapse if we tried to push something through. There were conflicting theories as to why. In the eighteenth century, Peckingham theorized that the stability of the dilation depended on the amount of raw material, not the size of the dilation."

Hermione's thoughts spun away in faster and faster loops. "And yet he lost interest even before you ran out of raw material…" She turned to Osterhoudt. "Why do you think Caleb decided to take up riding ley lines?"

He pursed his lips as he looked down at the carpet before he sighed and shook his head. "If I were a paranoid man, I would say it was because he knew they would be the first indication of a major time event, but that's actually a silly answer. He'd have to have had some idea of when it was going to happen and what type it was, or he'd be wasting his time. Literally. However, once the burps from the time event started, he would have known right away."

"How?"

"Well, from the residue of time displacement that accompanied the burps."

Hermione sat straight. "But your report said there wasn't any."

He recoiled. "No it didn't. There was plenty of residue. I wrote my findings down and directed Erina to give them to you specifically. She can tell you that."

She blinked. "When? Where did you two split?"

The old man looked up scrunching his eyes and humming. "She dropped me at my flat and said she was going to get a bite to eat before she returned to the office." She couldn't keep her suspicion off her face, and he misread it and started shaking his head. "She is an earnest young woman. She wouldn't have tampered with my findings."

"No, but if someone tampered with her?"

He still shook his head. "It makes no sense to me. There are dozens of types of time events, and they happen hundreds or even thousands of years apart. We have no way to predict them. For someone to do this… They would have to have some foreknowledge that no one else in the Time Room had. He'd have to know exactly what was coming." He gave her a shrewd look. "Miss Granger, are you sure you're not on the committee any longer?"

She scrunched up her face. "I guess I'm a lot more curious than I had thought," she admitted.

* * *

><p>Hermione dropped down onto the settee with a groan and took the glass of wine Harry offered her.<p>

"That bad?" Ron asked.

"That bad," she replied. "I can't tell if I'm an idiot for trusting people, or an idiot for not."

"You can't think like that," Harry said. "I used to beat myself up all the time for the same thing. If I'd trusted Snape from the start, we wouldn't have run into half the trouble we did, and if I'd questioned Dumbledore just once, I might have been better prepared. Things happen the way they're supposed to. You have to make peace with it, or it will eat at your sanity."

She sighed heavily and nodded. "I also think I've nailed down Caleb's motive a bit more. I've got a better idea of what he was trying to do beyond 'change the past.'"

"Tell us," Harry said sitting on the coffee table facing her.

She sat back and sipped her wine. "He was punching holes in time and watching events, but couldn't manipulate them without more Chronominium. Once he'd hit the wall on his research, he grew restless. Not long after, we came barreling in and the place got trashed. He went and signed up to ride ley lines for eight years."

"Okay, but where does this get suspicious?"

She took another sip and waved her glass. "Snape told me Caleb was only ever interested in money, so going to go work as an Unspeakable is a pretty odd choice, right?" Harry nodded, but Ron waved at her impatiently as she restated what they all knew. "Caleb told me himself that when he was younger he resented the fact that his great-great-whatever-father had given away a ten percent stake in Gringotts, leaving Caleb to grow up dirt poor with endless stories of the family's former glory.

"He spent his first few years out of Hogwarts on one long-shot scheme after another, until he suddenly knuckled down and became a capable researcher in the field of time." She held up a hand as Ron started to get antsy. "What if he was exploring the ultimate long-shot? What if he went looking for a way to go into the past and change his great-grandfather's decision?"

"Then he could jeopardize his own existence…" Ron said with a frown.

"Right. But what if he found a way to change the past without going there? To anchor his current reality? What if he found a way to poke a hole in the time stream so he could just stick his wand back there and hex the old guy before he gave away his share?"

"It that what he was doing?"

"I think so. I think once he realized there wasn't enough Chronominium left on the planet to power his experiments, he changed tactics. I think he began poking holes and peeking through time to find when the next event would be. Happily for him, it was only about eight years in the future. At that point he knew all he had to do was keep a lid on it until he could figure out where it was going to be. We trashed the place before he could."

Harry clasped his hands together and began rocking slightly. "And the murders?"

"He was eliminating anyone that would have understood what was going on. First, his former colleagues in the Time Chamber. Then his fellow field agents. Caleb must have realized that he needed to hold off until they came so frequently he could begin to track them back to the source. So he basically started manipulating his entire department. When that didn't work, he started getting rid of them. When _that_ wasn't working, he decided to throw the entire department into chaos by bringing in someone inept to run things."

"Well, he failed there," said Harry.

Hermione smiled at Ron's seconding of that sentiment.

"Proof?" Ron asked.

Hermione shook her head. "Not a shred. I think Harry was correct back at the beginning of all this. All he wanted was a head start on the prize."

"And the prize was this Chronominium?" Harry asked.

"No. That was just the material needed to reach the prize. The prize itself was being able to stick his wand through time and change his grandfather's mind. Imagine it, a dirt poor field agent one moment and ten percent of Gringotts, plus interest, the next."

Ron shook his head. "More like a greedy bugger one minute, and a charcoal briquette the next."

Hermione frowned in distaste at that last comment. She was about to remark on his insensitivity, but Harry cut her off.

"Well, that solves a few mysteries," he said, "but we have plenty more. We still have no way to connect Caleb to Bahari's death, since we know he was here the entire time, and have no idea who wiped Viktor's memories, since Lloyt was apparently in Spain. Unless he had accomplices—and if he did, where were they when the Dawn Knife jumped him in Toledo?—then we must have someone else here in the UK that we have to worry about."

"And we have to figure out how our water singers are supposed to help," she added. She looked at her glass. "Is this some of George's wine from Spain?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "But that's all you get tonight. We have a lot of swimming to do tomorrow."

Hermione looked at the small, alabaster box on the table next to his leg and sighed.

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><p>:<p>

Next up: The Swimsuit Edition.


	21. Chapter 21

**AN:** Okay, Spring Break is over for the kiddies and hopefully normalcy returns to Casa Aurette. Also? I ate too many jelly beans. Cue Jaws Theme

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><p>Hermione, Harry and Ron arrived at the gates of Hogwarts on the last day of school. They stood off to the side and let the last of the Thestral carriages pass by and then walked up the road, cutting across the field when they came near the Quidditch pitch.<p>

"Are you _sure_ we can't just open the box at the edge of the lake?" asked Ron.

Harry shook his head. "I told you, they won't come to us. We have to go to them. I learned that during the tournament. Only Dumbledore was ever able to get them to come to him."

"And you're positive the box is a message for the merpeople…"

Hermione nodded. "Even Snape said he recognized the sound."

Ron heaved a heavy sigh. He'd been vocal in his dislike of their plan since they'd come up with it. However, as sketchy as the plan was, it was obvious Ron was more interested in finding a way out of getting back in that particular lake.

They came around the side of the castle and saw the lake. The three of them stopped and stared. Out in the middle, they could see the Giant Squid lolling just under the surface.

"He always liked toast," Hermione said out of the blue, gesturing at the squid.

Ron shuddered. "I _hate_ that lake," he said.

"You and me both," said Harry.

"I honestly don't remember much about my part in the tournament," she added.

Harry shivered from head to toe. "Aren't you the lucky one."

"Not these days," she quipped starting down the slope.

The other two caught up to her. "How _are_ you holding up, Hermione?" Harry asked. "I haven't wanted to pry when it was obvious you didn't want to talk…"

She sighed and patted him on the arm in thanks. "I'm not sure. I think I'm on automatic. I think if I just keep moving, I won't realize just how out of control it all is. Or the fact that no matter how hard I try…"

"You're destined to fail?" finished Ron.

"Yeah."

He dropped his arm on her shoulder and pulled her against his side. "I don't think it counts as failing if you did your best."

She laughed. "I think it counts as failing if the world ends because of something I did or didn't do."

Ron shook her gently. "I've been giving the prophecy a bit of thought, and I think you need to find the Sword of Gryffindor and stab Harry with it."

"_What?_" Harry cried.

"Nothing vital, mind, a leg I think."

"What are you on about?" Hermione asked, eyeing Ron for signs of fever.

"The prophecy said that life or death would depend on the one you cut the deepest. If you can pick whom you cut the deepest, you might gain an advantage. We know Harry can save the world in a pinch, so I say stab him."

Harry shook his head in a daze. "That… has a sort of twisted genius, actually."

Hermione burst out in a laugh that shed a stone in weight off her heart. "Do you think something that daft could work?"

"I dunno. It's worth a try," Ron replied.

"Actually," said Harry hastily. "I wouldn't mind a bit more research on the subject of manipulating prophecies before anyone accidentally cuts off my leg."

Hermione giggled and patted him on the back. "Actually, Professor Snape seems to think that there is a lot of wiggle room in them. He believes that it was Voldemort that made the prophecy be about you, and that it could have been about Neville, or any other child born that day. He said once Voldemort focused on your family, then he locked the prophecy into being about you."

"I've heard that before," Harry said sinking into his thoughts.

"So…" Ron coughed. "What's going on with you and Snape?"

Hermione stiffened up. "Why do you ask?"

"Curiosity, really. Quint had a few things to say about him turning up in Toledo."

"Like what?"

"Like it was obvious that Snape is mad about you."

Hermione turned her head to him. "Really? He didn't go on about Snape being a suspect?"

"Oh, well, yeah. He did. But he said he thought the chances had been significantly reduced." Ron pulled his arm in, turning her toward him as they walked. "So? Is the old bat falling for you?"

Hermione sighed. "I won't rule it out, but he's a very strange man. I suspect if he _is_ beginning to care for me, someone will have to send him a memo so he knows. I wouldn't mind though. I think I could quite like him."

Harry shook his head. "I don't know. Those images I saw in the pensieve… I wouldn't have thought him capable of caring for anyone else. The idea somehow doesn't even feel right. Not after the way he spent his life." He darted a look at her. "Not that I wouldn't be happy for you both if you did find a spark together. I just can't picture him capable of giving a damn about anyone else."

Ron cleared his throat. "Well, we could ask him, or we could shut our gobs."

Hermione turned to see Snape standing down by the water, waiting for them. "Let's shut our gobs, shall we?"

"Right."

Ron dropped his arm, and they walked the remaining distance in silence.

"Well, well, _well_. Doesn't _this_ bring back old times," Snape drawled unpleasantly when they drew close.

"You're_ mad_," Ron hissed in her ear.

Snape held up three packets of gillyweed. "Swallow, don't chew. Wade out into the water, and when you feel yourself starting to struggle for air, submerge yourself. Do _not_ dive. There are rocks under the water, and if you snap your neck, I will be tempted to let you drown for your stupidity. Do what you must quickly. The effects only last for a short duration."

He tossed the packets, and they fanned out in the air, each heading toward a different person.

Hermione was irritatingly impressed.

Harry stuck his packet in his teeth and started to shed his robes. Hermione and Ron did the same. She tried her best not to be self-conscious of Snape seeing her in a bathing suit, but failed when she fumbled trying to shove her wand into her leg holster without bending over and he chuckled darkly.

"Did you ever figure out what the box was saying?" Snape asked.

"No. It's in no language I understand," she replied.

"I don't think we're the ones meant to understand it," Harry said.

"I agree," she added.

"It would just be nice to know we're not heading down there with a message that says 'kill these numpties'," Ron said as he tossed his shoes into the pile and headed toward the lake.

Harry and Ron were already wading out. She started after them, pulling open the packet while clutching the alabaster box.

Snape reached out and grabbed her elbow gently. "Do be careful," he said in a soft voice. "Weasley has the right of it. You don't know what the message is."

"I will," she murmured in reply.

She waded out to where the boys were, and Harry turned to her. "Just stuff it all in and swallow as quickly as possible. It tastes like burnt tires."

She nodded and followed instructions, doing her best not to gag. It wasn't easy. Soon enough, she felt her lungs constrict, and she crouched down into the water, shivering as the cold water crept across her skin. Harry and Ron quickly did the same. She felt the gills sprout along her neck and the webbing form on her hands and feet. As her body changed, she became less aware of the cold. She slid the rest of the way into the water and found her eyes had adapted as well. Holding them open didn't cause her any discomfort. In fact, blinking took effort.

Harry and Ron were already swimming away, but she raised the top of her head out of the water and looked at Snape one last time. He nodded to her, not bothering to hide the shadow of anxiety on his face. She blinked and darted away under the water.

The changes in her body made swimming an incredible experience. She cut through the water and caught up to Harry and Ron with ease, reveling in her new-found strength. The slightest kick seemed to propel her farther than physics should have allowed.

She felt a current shift in the water and looked up to see the Giant Squid staring after them with an enormous glassy eye. It stretched its tentacles toward them, but Hermione just shook her head at it. They didn't have time to play, and she hadn't brought it any toast in years. There was a deep rumbling sound from it, an almost mournful cry, and it pulled away, slowly returning to the surface.

Harry took them deeper into the lake and the pressure in her ears grew uncomfortable. He raised a hand and they stopped, floating about ten yards above a thick grove of long weeds. Ron pulled out his wand. Grindylows lived in the weeds. Their strategy was to follow Harry close to where he remembered the merpeople being, open the box, and figure out what to do from there. It was a bit thin, granted, but it was all they had to work with.

Harry circled around and then gestured to the box with a shrug, eloquently expressing his opinion that here was as good as anywhere.

Hermione pulled the pin and stuck it under the strap of her bathing suit, before lifting the lid off the box.

The water filled with the same, deep basso song that she and Harry had heard in the bathtub. There were no recognizable words, no familiar cadence to pin it to any language root that Hermione knew of. All she knew for sure was that it looped the same strange melody over and over again every forty-five seconds.

Ron swam in circles around her, eyes on the weeds, and Harry kept looking at the box, as if waiting for it to do something. As time stretched on, Hermione looked around, wondering if, perhaps, they should try it again with a different colony of merpeople. There were some in Loch Ness.

Ron signaled them with furious arm waving. They turned to where he was pointing and saw the dark weed bed boiling with motion. Ron positioned himself below them, and Harry put himself between her and Ron. Hermione looked around, wary of the three of them focused below while something might be happening in another direction.

She missed when the entire colony of merpeople exploded out of the weeds. It was Harry's touch on her ankle that alerted her.

The three of them watched, with increasing trepidation, as hundreds of merpeople shot through the water towards them. It was the hundreds of Grindylows following them that sealed it. Hermione reached through the water and tugged Harry's hair. He nodded and reached down to tug Ron's. The three of them turned and fled. If the merpeople wanted to talk, they wouldn't be bearing down on them _en masse_ with spears and tridents.

Hermione turned her face toward the surface and swam for her life, capping the box and shoving it down the front of her bathing suit. She felt the pin slide out of her strap and grimaced. There was no way she was going back for it. Perhaps that was why the pin had been replaced before. The last idiot to open the box had made the same mistake.

She darted a look behind her, hindered by her seaweed-like hair, and saw Ron already firing stinging hexes behind him as the merpeople closed the distance.

Harry grabbed her ankle and shoved, their signal for her to keep going, and she looked behind her to see the water grow red around Ron's leg.

She faltered. In Toledo, she had agreed that no matter what happened she would flee. But this was different. This was Harry and Ron, and she couldn't leave them.

She pulled her wand from her sheath and turned, firing a barrage of hexes and curses, as Harry grabbed Ron by the neck and pulled him away from the tines of the trident coming to make another stab. Hermione screamed in near-silent anger and swept their ranks with a Sectumsempra. Blood gouted into the water, and the Grindylows began to turn on their erstwhile masters at the smell of it.

Hermione turned and grabbed one of Ron's arms, and together, she and Harry dragged him toward the surface.

They were slow. Too slow. The Grindylows were not enough of a distraction in the ranks and about a dozen merpeople broke away and continued the pursuit.

Harry jerked his thumb up in anger at her and let go of Ron to turn and fire on them. Ron, face a mask of pain, began to fire curses at them as well. The concussion of an underwater Reducto deafened her as she swam for all she was worth, dragging her best friend ever higher in the water. They'd been so colossally stupid, and she was furious. Only Ron had questioned them, and he'd been the first one hurt.

Hermione broke the surface so fast she and Ron left the water completely. At the apex of her arc, she saw they were about four hundred yards from the shore, and judging by the location of the school, nowhere near where they had left Snape.

She swore up a storm as they crashed back to the surface, and Ron was jerked out of her arms by the impact.

The force did manage to unclog her ears a bit and she became aware of a sound. It was the low, mournful-sounding call of the Giant Squid. She looked around and found Harry was still holding his own. Several bodies were floating near him, slowly sinking. She gestured at Ron to stay close to the surface and headed back down for the attack.

Harry cut a deep slice into the tailfin of another opponent, and Hermione sent a Stunner at the one coming up from underneath him. They both paused when they saw more of them coming up from below. There were too many. Far too many. With a look, they both turned and fled.

Ron had been making his way toward shore with one useless leg, so they overtook him easily. They each grabbed an arm and he went limp, letting them drag him toward shore.

Hermione convulsed from a burning pain in her foot. She turned to see the spear withdraw for another strike, and her first thought was, _'Not the toes again_!' She jerked her leg away from a second stab and Harry struck off the head off the spear with a Slicing Hex. More and more merpeople came into view and Hermione felt her heart give out.

Ron grabbed her hair, and she turned to look at him. He jerked his head toward the unseen shore, and pushed her away.

Her composure broke, and she shook her head. If she was going to fail, let it be now. Perhaps she had already done what she needed to. She turned and fired on another, and another, and another, releasing her anger and her frustration and her pain in a volley of spells that caused maiming and death.

Ron grabbed her by the hair again, but she slapped at him. She would _not_ run away and leave them to die. If this was their last adventure, they would go down fighting together.

Hermione felt another burning pain rake her back and twisted to fire upon the group that had come up behind them.

It was then that she became aware that her lungs were starting to burn. She turned and sent a frantic look at Harry, and a slow shake of his head confirmed it.

The gillyweed was wearing off.

Hermione felt herself start to cry just as everything turned black.

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><p>:<p>

Ah, c'mon. You know I love cliffhangers. You _had_ to know I would do that.


	22. Chapter 22

**AN:** I'm sorry. Kinda.

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><p>The water clouded with a jet of black ink and Hermione felt the displacement just before she was snatched up in the Giant Squid's tentacles. She was completely blind so it was a few heart-stopping moments before she was sure the squid had grabbed Harry and Ron as well. The speed the creature moved at, forced her to scrunch her eyes shut as they rocketed across the lake.<p>

Every few moments, the Squid would lift them out of the water, and she would suck in air before they were back under again.

It seemed to take ages for the squid to slowdown. Eventually, it came to a stop in the shallows, lifting them up out of the water and depositing them on a large, flat rock near the shore. She swiped at the hair in her face and saw Snape racing down the water's edge towards them.

Harry pulled his glasses out of the waistband of his swim trunks and shook the water off them before he turned his wand on Ron, who was pale from blood loss. His leg had been opened to the bone.

She was about to help, when the Giant Squid raised another tentacle out of the water. This one was curled around a box, perhaps ten inches square, and made of grey stone. Like the smaller alabaster box, this one had rounded edges and no markings. The squid gently rested it on the rock and pushed it toward her. The water rumbled with the echo of its call. Now that she had reverted back to her usual form, the song sounded different.

If she'd felt incredibly stupid before, there were no words for what she felt now.

Ron caught on before Harry did, of course. "You never even bothered to research who the bloody water singer was, did you?"

Hermione shook her head.

"I mean, the merpeople were a bit too bloody obvious weren't they?"

Hermione just started to cry. The Giant Squid poked her a few times with its rubbery tentacle, and she lifted her head. "Thank you," she whispered, petting it.

It hummed and rolled onto its side before heading back out into deeper water.

She heard splashing behind her and turned to see Snape wading out into the water to reach them. "What the bloody hell happened?" he yelled. "What the hell sent you leaping out of the water like that? Gods! You're bleeding! And your foot! Have you _no_ respect for my work?"

For some reason, this just made her cry harder.

He waded in up to his thighs until he could reach her foot and began knitting closed the wound.

"Ron," she croaked. "Ron's worse."

Snape looked at Ron's leg and swore under his breath. He scrambled awkwardly up onto the rock with them and began helping Harry tend to the wound. After a few moments, he sat back on his haunches. "We need to get him to Madam Pomfrey," he said, looking over his shoulder at her. "You too. The chance of infection is too great, and he's lost too much blood."

He hit Ron with a Mobilicorpus and lifted him off the rock before sliding down into the water. Hermione wrapped her hands around the heavy box before she slid off the rock as well. Harry caught her and carried her over to the shore, but it pained the slice on her back. He set her down on her good foot and let her lean on his arm. She hopped along on her good leg, but her muscles were cramping badly. After a few yards, Harry hit her with a spell as well, and she floated along next to him clutching her prize.

"Someone will begin to explain what happened… _now_," Snape said in a voice filled with threat as they all set off towards the castle.

"You want to know what happened?" Ron snapped. "I'll tell you what happened. The three of you all thought you were clever is what happened! Not one of you even stopped to wonder how, if the water singer was one of the bloody merpeople, Madam Zoo, or whatever her name was, couldn't have figured that out!"

Ron flipped his hand in a gesture of disgust. " 'Betrayed at every turn.' You betrayed yourself there, love. Thought you were so fucking clever, didn't you? When all you had to do was wade out ankle deep and open the bloody box! Then we could have all enjoyed a nice picnic lunch while the bloody Squid went to play _fetch!_"

"That's enough, Ron," Harry said in a quiet voice.

"No, it's not!" he bellowed. "You saw her!" He craned his head back towards Snape. "You know what else happened? _She gave up!_ We had the entire fucking colony of merpeople trying to kill us, and she wouldn't leave, would she? No! She decided to hang about and die with us! The only reason we're still here is because of the Squid! We'd have been Grindylow chum if it hadn't zipped in when it did!"

"Stop it!" Harry snapped. "_Now!_"

Ron looked at him in surprise. "You saw her! You know I'm right! How can you take her side?"

"Because _I_ know what she's going through!" Harry yelled back. "You don't have any idea what it's like to have everyone depend on you! To die all around you! To be _willing_ to die for you." Harry sucked in a breath and then let it out slowly. "Yes, I saw her decision. I saw her deciding her own fate." Harry swiped at his eyes. "I've got nothing more to say about it."

Hermione scrubbed at her own face and clutched Harry's hand.

There was a full minute of silence after that, until Ron mumbled. "I remember well enough…"

The rest of the journey back was done in silence.

:

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><p>:<p>

"Is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"Is it true you gave up hope and decided to die with your friends?"

Hermione looked away from the fire and over toward where Severus was working. She shrugged her shoulders, feeling the soft wool shifting against her skin. She was wearing Snape's outer robes, even though they'd stopped to pick up their things on the way back from the lake. She hadn't questioned it when he'd stripped out of it and tossed it to her as she'd sat, shivering in her bathing suit, watching over Ron.

Madam Pomfrey had made short work of healing her injuries and released her with a prescription for several potions to keep away infection. Snape had brought her to his rooms and, while she was showering, had set about brewing the potions himself, since Slughorn was gone for the summer. Ron was still up in the infirmary. He would be staying overnight. Harry had gone back home when Ron had fallen asleep, and Hermione had followed Severus out of the infirmary, clutching the box in her hands. He hadn't invited her, nor had she asked. He'd just held the infirmary door open for her as if he'd assumed she was coming, and she'd followed because she didn't know where else she wanted to go.

She'd been sitting on the floor before Snape's fire for an hour now, her hands resting lightly on the box between her knees. Only her fingertips showed from beneath long, black sleeves.

"Well?" he snapped. "Is it true?"

"Yes," she replied looking back down at the box.

He was silent a long time, and she listened to the clink and clatter of stirring rods and vials.

"What made it any different from Toledo?"

She knew what he was asking. When she'd been attacked there, she'd thrown herself off a cliff to get away.

She shook her head. "Because I wouldn't have made it. You can't Apparate under water. It was hopeless," she murmured with a shrug. "In Toledo, it wasn't hopeless because you were there." She looked back over her shoulder and watched him fill vials, waiting for him to look at her. "I had faith in you." She saw his eyes widen, and he shook his head slightly. "I knew if I could just get away, you all had a chance."

He snorted, and she looked back down at the box.

She listened as he racked up the vials and then walked over to his fireplace. "Excuse me," he said politely.

She grabbed her box and stood as he threw in a pinch of powder and called for the Infirmary. He pushed the rack of potions through and stepped back. Turning to her, he looked down at the box in her hands. "Are you ever going to open that?"

She shook her head. "No. Not yet. Not now, at any rate." She shrugged. "I just… _can't_, you know?"

His face softened, and he took it from her. She followed him as he walked back to the table he'd been working at and set it down. "I do know," he said in a quiet voice. "Some days it seems easier to just… _not_. Some days, even the weight of all the souls that depend on you isn't enough to keep you moving toward your goal. There are moments when you want to chuck it all to the side and simply grab the small bit of happiness in front of you."

She nodded. "Exactly."

He handed her one of the vials of potion. "Have you eaten?"

She shook her head, taking the potion and drinking it quickly. She drank down the water he handed her as well and passed the glass back.

"You can't give up, Hermione," he said softly. "You have a duty. Each day you must get up and keep going, because once you sit down in the road… it's over. You can't depend on Giant Squids, and you can't depend on me. You _must_ keep going."

"But weren't you ever tempted to just sit down in the road? Didn't you ever once feel like it was all simply too much? That that small bit of happiness might have been enough?"

He flinched. "Every day," he replied in a tight voice before turning away. "But being selfish doesn't save people." He pulled out his wand and blocked his Floo. "Come. You need something to eat. You've lost a lot of blood and your body needs sustenance."

He warded his rooms and led her down to the kitchens where he watched as the house-elves fussed over making her a meal. She ate sparingly at first, but then dug in and cleared her plate when her appetite woke up. He didn't eat, just watched her with seeming disinterest. When she'd finished, he led her back up to his rooms and came to a stop by his worktable. His body language was stiff with tension as he lifted his wand to open the Floo. Evidently, it was time to take her leave.

She stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Will you kiss me?" she asked.

His face scrunched up as if in pain, and he pulled her roughly into his arms. He kissed her with tenderness, although she could feel him struggle with his restraint as she threaded her arms around his strong back. She deepened the kiss and a strangled sound escaped him as he responded with passion.

She took what he gave with desperate need and felt it fill the hole in her psyche. His hands kneaded at her gently, and she pulled him tight against her, wishing she could push him inside her heart and keep him.

He broke away, both of them breathless for air, and stared at her with an ambiguous expression. When she whispered, "I'm asking," he seemed to sag with relief before grasping her hand gently in his and turning away. He led her through his sitting room and straight to his bed. Reaching out, he tugged down his blanket before letting go of her hand and casually stripping out of his clothes. Following his lead, Hermione popped open a few buttons at her neck before pulling the robes over her head. She wasn't wearing anything else.

Snape stepped aside, and she crawled in, sliding over to make room. She felt light-headed and a bit numb as he finished stripping and slipped in next to her, pulling her into his arms.

Whatever his strange matter-of-factness meant, or her detached numbness, it ended when he pulled her up against him and their skin touched. His breath rushed out, and he practically lunged to kiss her neck. Hermione grabbed his face and pulled his head up, finding his lips and kissing him with total abandon. He cradled her to his chest as the kiss turned incendiary.

She had no intention of passively being shagged this time. She needed him to understand that it wasn't just taking. That he wasn't just being used. There was no way to say the words, so she showed him instead.

She rolled with him until she was lying on his chest and took control, and he surrendered with a growl of pleasure. She kissed and licked and kissed again until she'd covered his face, his neck, his shoulders and chest. The silky warmth of his skin was like a drug to her. He, in turn, caressed her, crooned to her, stroked her, urging her on with quiet growls.

His hands slid down between her legs, and she groaned. His breath rushed out at her reaction. "Does that please you?" he asked in a harsh whisper.

She pushed herself up his body and kissed his lips before whispering, "_You_ please me, Severus."

She kissed him again, a gentle, sweet kiss, and he brought his hand to the back of her head to keep her from moving away as his lips explored hers. When they broke apart, she saw the almost child-like wonder in his eyes and knew she was lost. There was no escaping the fact that she was in love with him, only the insecurity of wondering if it was mutual.

She shifted and took him in hand, eliciting another gasp and a longer groan as she stroked him. She straightened up on her knees and sank down on him, watching his eyes flutter closed. Starting off slowly as he clutched her thighs to set the pace, she soon grew selfish at how good it felt, how complete she felt, and rode him faster. Leaning forward and placing her hands flat on his chest, she tried to keep up the rhythm she wanted.

As if he could tell her over-strained muscles weren't up to the task, he leaned up and wrapped his arms around her, rolling them over until he was above her. He took over from there, slowly making her come apart by rolling his hips every few thrusts. He curled his back and leaned down to kiss her breasts as he pushed them both to the breaking point. She broke first, coming apart as if every nerve ending was unraveling. He clamped his mouth over hers as she moaned, drinking her cries, and then pushed up on his arms and drove himself toward his own release. His face was burning with passion, and when he peaked, he moaned as if the sound had been torn from him against his will.

He lowered himself down slowly, his body trembling from the effort, and gave her one last gentle kiss before he shifted to the side and collapsed. He held her against his pounding chest as they struggled to find their breath.

Reaching up, he cupped her face, turning her head towards him. His eyes held an intensity that stopped her breath as he pleaded in a rasp, "Find another way to fail."

She nuzzled against his hand and closed her eyes when he kissed her again.

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><p>Better?<p> 


	23. Chapter 23

**AN:** Feels sort of like we're closing in on the finish, doesn't it? Except there's 14 more chapters to go...

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><p>Hermione sat on the carpet before the fire with her arms wrapped loosely around her knees and contemplated the box. Every so often she would wave her wand over it, mumbling another spell and watching the effect. She'd been at it for thirty minutes.<p>

She heard the bed creak in the other room and smiled. Severus appeared a few moments later wearing a plush dressing gown cinched tight at the waist. She blinked up at him and smiled even more. "Did I wake you?"

"Your side of the bed grew cold." His voice was deeper than usual and gravelly from sleep. "What are you doing? It's almost three in the morning."

She gave him a wry look. "Right now? Just trying to open it."

He settled onto the hearthrug, positioning himself slightly behind her. "I thought you would wait until tomorrow."

"So did I, but I woke up full of curiosity and decided it was technically tomorrow already."

He gave a quiet chuckle and summoned a bottle of wine and two glasses. "What have you tried?" he asked as he shifted back and leaned against his coffee table.

"A few Charms to see how it was locked. A few spells to break in. One or two Diagnostic Charms to see why I couldn't."

"What have you learned?" he asked, reaching around her shoulder with a full glass.

She took it and sipped, shifting back to lean against his knees. "It's slate, which makes it an odd choice to hold something of world-saving value. Slate can be incredibly brittle. It has to be reinforced with magic, but I can't detect any, nor can I figure out how the lid is sealed."

She turned and looked at him, struck by how soft his face looked with its sleep-puffed eyes and the crease from the pillow running along his cheek. He gave her a half-smile and lifted a finger to stroke her lower lip. She nipped at it playfully, and he tapped her on the nose in mock reprimand. Their eyes met and the air began to crackle between them.

"Do I always have to ask?" she whispered.

He lifted an eyebrow. "Are you granting me free access?"

"If you'd like." He looked at her for a long time in silence, until she added. "Would you want that?"

He nodded, and his expression relaxed when she answered with a smile. She set her glass down on the table and turned to crawl into his arms. He pulled her against him and kissed her, sliding a hand into her borrowed robes and palming her breast.

She broke the kiss and made a happy noise as she rested her head against his shoulder. "Have you ever had a steady girlfriend?"

He stiffened slightly, and there was a pause before he answered. "No, and I don't have one now. Let's just make that clear."

She shifted off him and turned to look him in the eyes. "Make that clearer, if you will."

He smirked and then his face grew serious. "I'll give you what you need, not what you don't. If you're looking for more, you're looking in the wrong place," he nodded towards the box, "and at the wrong time."

"And when this is all over, after I've found another way to fail, would that be a better time?"

He shrugged, and she felt his reluctance to answer. "Granger, I can't give you what you want." His words were so softly spoken and said with so much sadness that she wanted to pretend she'd misheard him. She tried to ignore the way they punctured the delicate hope that she had been nurturing sub-consciously. She wanted to ask him to explain, wanted to worry at the problem like a sore tooth.

Instead, she snuggled back down into his arms. "I'll take what you can give. We'll worry about tomorrow when we've ensured there will be tomorrows." She felt him relax under her as his arm came back around and settled on her hip.

She stared at the box, prodding it with a toe as she listened to him swallow a sip of wine. "Do you have any ideas?" she asked.

"One or two," he replied in a drawl, setting his glass down. She watched him pull his wand out of his pocket and give a few lazy flicks, running through some standard checks for Dark Magic, and one or two other spells she didn't recognize. When he was done, he patted her hip. She moved to sit on the coffee table, sipping her wine as he rose from the floor and walked over to his workbench. She twisted to look at the wine bottle, wondering if he'd snaffled some of George's precious Spanish wine as well, and missed whatever it was he'd picked up from the bench.

She looked up when she saw his arm jerk up into the air. She only had time to let out an affronted squawk before he brought the small, copper-headed mallet down on the box with a shockingly loud crash.

"_What are you_—" Her words cut off as the box cracked into three, irregular-shaped pieces. She went down on one knee to inspect it and realized her error. The box _had_ no lid. Just a groove cut into it to resemble one. It had been made of one piece of stone.

"You over think everything, Granger," he said, turning away to replace the mallet. "Yet, you never see what's right in front of you."

She flapped her hand in the air, driving his criticism away, and carefully pulled apart the broken pieces of box. Inside, she found a stack of thin tablets about the size of a large hand. She pulled one out and lifted it up to the firelight. Severus spelled on all the candles and sank down next to her.

"Petrified wood?" she asked.

"So it would seem," he said, reaching for another.

They both inspected the markings incised on one side of each tablet. She traced the small symbols with her hand. "It's boustrophedon. See? Every other line is written backwards in the other direction."

"It looks familiar. Almost like ancient Greek, or Phoenician," he said.

She nodded. "The alphabet _is_ reminiscent of Phoenician, but not the way they link the words," she replied distractedly.

"Can you really read Phoenician?" he asked.

She darted a look at him and found a mocking sneer. "You _can't?_" she snapped back. He raised an eyebrow and frowned in distaste at her petty jibe, making her color with embarrassment. "Not fluently," she said defensively. "Languages are a hobby. What part about my being a Know-it-all astounded you?"

He snorted and shook his head and they let the matter drop. Together they carefully pulled all the tablets out of the broken box and laid them out on the coffee table. There were sixteen in all, each measuring approximately eight and a half inches by four, and a little more than an eighth of an inch in thickness. They were smooth, despite the busyness of the wood grain, and the best way to see the markings on them was to tilt them slightly against the light so that the symbols fell into shadow.

Hermione sat back and picked up her glass, sipping her wine in deep thought. They had moved to the settee, and she started as Snape reached out and stroked her hair. "Is it even worth suggesting you sleep on it?" he said.

She turned and smiled at him. "No."

He heaved himself up off the couch. "Then I'll fetch parchment."

:

Three days later, she hadn't made any further progress. Deciding Hogwarts was the most secure location in the UK, she'd kept the tablets in Snape's sitting room and had done most of her research there. Only Harry and Ron knew what she had. She kept the rest of the team in the dark, deciding that the fewer people who knew what she'd found, the less chance there was for even accidental betrayal. Not all the time she spent at Hogwarts was devoted to study, but even when she did take a break, it was never far from her mind.

Sweating and shuddering, she collapsed down onto Snape's chest, placing lazy kisses on his salty collar bone as he gasped for breath. "It only makes sense that there would be some sort of key, doesn't it?" she said between kisses. "Some form of Rosetta stone. I mean, why would someone leave the information with the Squid, and then leave us no way to interpret it?"

He gave her a shaky laugh and gently tossed her off of him. "Well, I can see distracting you didn't last long." He sat up and slapped her on the arse before reaching for his dressing gown. "At least you could compliment my performance or thank me for my service before you dive back into your brain and abandoned me."

She pushed her hair out of her face and looked at him, preoccupied by her thoughts. "What? What are you on about? You hardly need my compliments. You know you're good. It's like you've been trained to shag the daylights out of a woman." Seeing his scowl before he turned away and headed to the bathroom, she added, "You really _are _amazing, you know. Thank you for your kind service!" He snorted and closed the door with a thump.

She worried at the riddle of the tablets until she heard the toilet flush and the bathroom door open. She looked up, but instead of seeing him, she heard the sound of the shower running. She smiled and rolled out of the bed.

Slipping into the shower behind him, she wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head between his shoulder blades. "Did I really hurt your feelings?" she asked softly.

He scoffed and twisted around. She loved seeing him with his wet hair slicked back. It showed off the over-long sideburns that his hair otherwise hid. It was like seeing a secret part of him.

He lifted the soapy flannel and began scrubbing at her neck and shoulders. "You're implying I have feelings to hurt."

"Don't be like that," she said holding her arm out while he scoured it.

"Like what?"

"Don't pretend." She looked up at him. "I know differently. I don't understand, but I know what I see."

He kept his gaze averted and concentrated on bathing her. "What do you think you see?" he asked with mild scorn.

Biting her lip, she thought about her answer. He'd made it to her feet before she replied. "I see someone who doesn't want to need or to be needed and fails at both."

His hands slowed, and she took the flannel from him, rinsing it and herself under the spray before she soaped it up again and started in on him. His body was rapidly becoming her ideal, long, lean, and well-defined, without any excess. No fat, nor extra bulk. Even the bones that were so obvious under the skin looked sleek and well-formed.

"May I ask you something personal and have you not get angry?"

His eyes stayed closed as she scrubbed lightly at the scars on his neck. "You may," he replied. "However, I reserve the right to not answer."

"Were you?" She concentrated on his underarm, rather than look at him. "Trained. In bed." She felt, rather than saw his eyes fly open and the look he gave her was more than she could take, even with only her peripheral vision. She certainly wasn't going to look directly at him. "It's just that I can't seem to mesh how good you are with how… aloof you can be. And then there are moments when it's like you've never—"

He snatched the cloth away from her and stepped back. "I'm not going to talk about this," he said in a clipped voice. "Wash your hair." He turned his back on her and started scrubbing at himself with too much force, raising red marks on his pale skin.

"I'm sorry," she said in a soft voice. "That was an incredibly stupid question. I didn't mean to offend you." She turned away and stepped into the spray, wishing she could dissolve and flow down the drain. She kept her face under to hide the humiliating tears that burned her eyes. What the hell was _wrong_ with her?

She felt his arms wrap around her as he joined her under the shower. His cheek pressed against her temple as his chest came up against her back. "Sometimes you see too _much_," he said quietly. "This is something I am not going to talk about. Ever. Will you accept that?"

She nodded vigorously and twisted around in his arms. They held each other tenderly and slowly turned into prunes.

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><p>The meeting had been going on for an hour, and even the ever-polite Arthur was looking bored. Hermione looked around Harry's sitting room and saw that even Snape's eyes looked a bit glazed. She stared back down at her notes as Quint droned on about the lack of new information on Alonso's murder. There had been little to no progress since Myanmar. They hadn't even been able to firmly link Caleb Lloyt to any of the crimes he'd been suspected of in the UK. Keitch had apparently started throwing tantrums in the middle of the MLE and had ordered his Aurors to start over from scratch. He'd ordered an accounting of every minute of Lloyt's life for the last two years before he'd died and a fresh investigation into any and all of his former associates. Again.<p>

Hermione sighed and began doodling.

"Is there nothing more your people can tell us?" Ron asked. Hermione looked up and realized he was asking Madam Worple. "He was one of yours at one point. Surely there are folks down there that knew him that we could speak with."

The older woman shook her head. "With all his former colleagues dead, with the exception of Mr. Osterhoudt, I'm afraid there's no one left that knew him. The different departments keep to themselves for the most part, and it has been eight years since the Time Room was closed. I'm sorry. I _have_ asked, but no one remembers him. I barely do myself. I'm afraid I've already told you everything."

Ron frowned and punched lightly at his thigh. He looked like he had more to say, but instead, he just waved his hand in the air in disgust and slumped back.

Philips was the last to speak, and he caught their attention right away. "I'm pleased to report that _we_ have at least made progress in tracking the source of the burps. João Krieger has been coordinating the field agents, and his Arithmantic calculations show that our event will most likely be taking place in Scandinavia. I've checked his figures and can find no fault. Inquiries at the Ministries in both Sweden and Norway have resulted in confirmation of a sort. They don't have a measurement office to track ley lines, however, they _have_ received complaints of shifting null zones from their Wizarding population, and whatever is going on is affecting a few Muggles. Claims of dizziness, fatigue, and temporary disorientation are on the rise in Norway, Sweden and Finland. Mr. William Weasley is on his way to Oulu to give us a first-hand report.

"My prediction is we will know exactly where the event will take place within the next two weeks. However, I feel I must point out that we're getting to the point where we might have to start dragging out the process until Miss Granger's investigation pans out. I'm not sure it's wise for everyone to know where it will be happening until we understand exactly _what_ is happening. I leave the decision to the rest of you."

Hermione nodded and thanked him and then let the meeting break up. She shoved up off of the couch and stretched. Madam Worple gave her a commiserating smile as she stretched out her own muscles. "And how are you holding up, Miss Granger? I have to admit I'm a little surprised that you haven't come to see me at all."

Hermione gave her a puzzled look. "I was under the impression that you'd already given me everything you'd found that could aid my research."

Worple nodded. "That's true, but I could perhaps help you with bouncing ideas, or organizing your thoughts. It's good to have an ear to listen to our hypotheses. I find the act of speaking out loud to a knowledgeable audience can sometimes help me make intuitive leaps that I hadn't seen before."

"That's true," Hermione said. "I'm not quite at the well-crafted hypothesis stage yet. I might just take you up on that offer soon."

The older woman patted her on the shoulder. "Just so you know I'm here. This is a conundrum, for sure, and the ramifications aren't for the faint-hearted. My office is open to you whenever you need it."

"I'll keep that in mind."

The other woman's eyes crinkled and she reached out and caught the edge of Hermione's notes. "What is this you've drawn?" she said, twisting her head to look at the scribbling. "Are these some sort of runes? Or were you just being whimsical?"

Hermione realized she done a fair job of drawing the characters incised on the tablets she'd been studying. Not wanting to admit the truth, she invented a quick lie. "It's whimsy. I've always wanted to invent my own runes. It's sort of an intellectual indulgence when I'm bored."

"I see you're inspired by the Phoenician alphabet," the woman said, tracing one with her finger.

Hermione tried for a girlish giggle. "Wasn't everyone?" she said with a smile. "If you'll excuse me, I wanted to talk to Professor Snape before he left." She turned away and headed toward where Snape was leaning against the wall just inside the doorway.

His expression didn't change, but his eyes seemed to smolder as she approached. He turned his head away, surveying the room, while his voice seemed to flow directly into her ear and into her brain. "Will I see you tonight?"

She swallowed and tried to look as disinterested as he did. She failed. "As long as I'm welcome," she said in a quiet voice.

He turned to her and gave her a look that made her shiver. "Then I will be expecting you." With that, he turned and left.

Gods. The man was as addictive as a drug…

:

Two days later, Hermione was sitting in her kitchen scrubbing the tired off her face. Ron was sprawled on the couch. He was fully recovered, but liked taking advantage of her guilty feelings by eating her out of house and home. She was running out of both guilt and food.

Harry was pacing back and forth. "You can't trace what part of the world the slate came from?" he said.

"I have. It's compatible with seven different deposits," she replied in a tired voice.

"Did anyone think to ask the squid?" Ron said around a mouthful of biscuits.

"Severus looked into that. No one but the merfolk can talk with it, and they're not feeling particularly cooperative. They refused to explain why they attacked us, and won't speak with anyone at the moment."

"What about Madam Worple?" Harry said. "Isn't it a bit silly not to ask her if she knows anything about the language on the tablets? I mean, it would be good to avoid running in circles for another bit of information one of our experts already had."

Hermione sighed. "I probably should, but I don't feel comfortable. We've never cleared her completely as a suspect in the theft of my notes."

"Blimey," Ron muttered. "Sort of defeats the whole point of becoming a bloody Unspeakable, doesn't it?" Hermione gave him a sharp look, and he rolled his eyes. "We've known for ages..."

"Who else knows?"

Harry scratched at his head. "The two of us, Quint, and Kingsley, that I know of. That should be it, unless you've told Snape."

"I can't recall offhand if I have," she said. "I can't think at all. I'm so tired."

"Not getting much sleep?" Ron asked in a voice full of innuendo.

"Oh, sod off."

He laughed and pushed up off the couch. "So how are things with the git?" he asked as he brought his plate into the kitchen.

She snorted. "For something that is supposed to be uncomplicated, it's shockingly complicated."

Harry chuckled. "You didn't really expect less from him, did you?"

She scrunched up her face. "Actually, yeah. For some reason, I did."

Her fire ignited in the grate, and Harry whirled around, wand out, in time to see it turn green. In a moment, Snape himself was staring him down with subtle contempt, while standing on the hearth, flicking imaginary soot from his sleeve.

"Speak of the devil, and up he pops," said Harry.

Severus dismissed him with a bored sneer. "I see you have company," he said.

She chuckled tiredly. "More like part-time roommates," she replied. "Would you like a glass of wine?"

He pursed his lips. "No. I came to inform you that I managed to winkle a bit of information from that useless flock of parasitical portraits known as the former headmasters.

"May I remind you that you're going to be a parasite one day yourself?" Ron said with a smirk.

Snape pinned him with a long stare before drawling, "No. You may not."

"Right. Then I won't."

Hermione waved a hand and gestured to Snape to join her at the table. "What have you learned?"

"You mentioned the other day that we needed a sort of Rosetta stone. I asked them if they had ever heard of such a thing. A spell or artifact that would help with translating lost languages. Ambrose Swott seems to believe that there once was a place one could go to learn to speak all the languages of the world, including the languages of the spheres, which he harped on about uselessly."

"Telepathy?"

"Indeed, but that would hardly help you in this case would it? Unless you're planning to commune with stone tablets...?"

"Where is it?" Harry asked.

"Greece. It was apparently a shrine, located in the same area as the more famous Oracle of Delphi. I assume, similar to the Oracle, one inhaled the fumes and then thought they knew everything there was to know about life right up until they cocked up their toes from ethylene poisoning. It fell out of favor even with the local Muggles back around 300 B.C. when the vents closed up. However, my research turned up a reference to a particular cave in the region that was famed for its _writings_. Namely, the words 'Bless us, Mother Cybele' written on the walls repeatedly in every language ever known to man. It appears to be the same shrine that Swott was trying to describe."

"How soon can we leave?"

"Tomorrow's Saturday," Harry said. "Ron and I are off, and Ginny's season is over. I don't see why we can't all go in the morning. It wouldn't be suspicious for us to take a short holiday together. I'll have Quint run to the Portkey Office first thing and secure us one. We can meet back here at eight."

"Is a registered Portkey wise, Mr. Potter? Won't that increase the chances of someone discovering where she's going?"

"How else do you plan on getting to Greece?"

Snape frowned with obvious irritation.

"Are you saying you know how to make an illegal Portkey?" asked Harry.

"I'm not hearing this," Ron said, jamming his fingers in his ears.

Snape ignored them and turned to look at Hermione. "I will have one for you in the morning."

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><p>heh.<p> 


	24. Chapter 24

**AN**: Big hugs to all of you guys for all of your reviews and comments and for letting me drag you all over the globe.

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><p>Hermione landed and fell to her knees. Her face was saved from the rocks only by Snape's grip on her elbows. Harry had managed to hold onto the Portkey <em>and<em> Ginny's arm, but poor Ron landed flat on his arse.

"Oi, Snape! You need to work on those if you're want to make a living at it," said Ron, struggling to his feet and using his wand to gather the contents of his torn backpack. They didn't know what they would be facing, so they'd brought rope and other climbing gear as well as food and water. Ron had insisted on his own supply of food.

Hermione looked up, squinting in the blinding sun to see Snape's eloquent scowl as he helped her to her feet.

"Merlin, does it have to be so bright?" Harry said trying to keep his eyes open with little success.

"Pull your hood down lower," Ginny said, doing so herself.

"Which way?" Ron asked, spinning in a circle to orient himself.

Hermione consulted the map she'd copied out of the Hogwarts' library the previous night and pointed up the slope of the mountain looming over them. "Theoretically, the shrine is that way," she said. "But I think I like Ginny's idea. Let's find somewhere to eat and ask the locals."

"I don't speak Greek," Ron said, "and unless no one's bothered to tell me, Harry and Ginny don't either."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Aside from the fact that I _do_, I charmed the bracelet I gave you with a translation spell."

"Oh. Right. I thought it was for tracking each other if we got separated."

"That too," she said.

Ginny giggled and swatted Ron on the shoulder as she passed him. "If you hadn't been so busy packing food, you'd have heard the whole conversation."

Ginny slipped her arm through Harry's and headed off into the town. Ron scowled after them, still trying to repair the rend in his pack.

Hermione looked over at Snape, expecting a snide comment, but he simply gestured for her to precede him.

Two hours later, they were stuffed full and had a much better idea of where they were going. There was some confusion about which shrine they were talking about. Cybele's cult was never that large in Greece. However, eventually they'd found an older woman who managed to shout the rest down and tell them what they'd wanted to know. She'd even marked it on the map. Several people had offered to play guide, for a modest price, but they'd decided they would make better time on brooms, and so had demurred. They set off up the road leading out of Delphi and when they were out of sight, took to the skies.

Hermione knew she was holding the others back. She was competent on a broom and a bit better at heights than she had been in school, but she'd never make anyone's Quidditch team. Harry, Ron, and Ginny were far ahead, darting in and out of the conifer trees and inspecting every bend and fold in the mountainside. Snape was a black speck high above her, apparently impersonating a vulture.

By her reckoning, they had to be close. The Sanctuary of Apollo was just to their west. She was scanning her map when a shadow passed swiftly overhead. She looked up and jerked her broom to a halt, as Severus shot past her, shouting, "Land!"

She angled her broom toward a cluster of trees and dove for the ground as Snape strafed Harry and the others. She landed about three hundred yards away from them and crouched, unsure if she should stay put, or head toward them. Shrinking her broom down, she looked around, cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself, and hurried to a different stand of trees. If someone had seen their plummet from the sky, it didn't make sense to stay where she'd landed. She'd just found a place to hide when the coin in her pocket heated up. She dug it out, but had to cancel her charm in order to read it.

'_Snape spotted broom riders_,' it read.

She waited and when no new message was forthcoming she tapped it with her wand and sent, '_Where?_'

It seemed like a small eternity until it heated up again and then did so in a rapid series of messages. '_Coming from the southeast_.' '_Stay where you are_.' '_Snape and Harry are on the move_.' After that, it went cold. She palmed it, gripping it tight, and turned herself invisible again.

It was almost a half-hour later when her bracelet pulsed. She sighed, someone was coming to her. She kept herself still and listened to the buzzing of insects and the rustling of the branches above her head, searching for the sound of footsteps. She was still listening intently, her bracelet's pulse growing increasingly faster, when she smelled him. There was no telltale sound of footsteps approaching, what struck her first was the warm, spicy smell of him. A familiar scent that caught her attention even over the tang of evergreen trees and sun-heated soil. She turned her head slowly but saw nothing as the pulsing of her bracelet grew into a steady buzz. "Where are you?" she whispered.

"Here," he replied, his seeking hands finding and grasping her shoulders.

She turned into his embrace, and his cheek rested against hers. She felt the fleeting brush of his lips across her temple as he pulled away. "Are you alright?" he said in a quiet voice.

She nodded against his shoulder. "Just frightened."

His face as he canceled his Disillusionment Charm was a mask of tension. "Tell the others I've found you."

She canceled her own charm and tapped her coin, sending, '_With Snape_.'

He tapped her bracelet with his wand, canceling the trace, and lifted her to her feet. "Come, the others are this way."

She held onto his hand as he led her out of the small grove. "Tell me who I was hiding from," she said as they made their way hand in hand up the slope.

"I'm not sure. They were a mixed group, Asian, Slavic, and a few that could pass for French, but I didn't hear them speak. There was at least one who spoke with a Geordie accent, but I didn't get a good look at her. If I had to guess, I would say they were some sort of international coalition. Their intent is to kidnap you." She swung her head around to look at him, but again, his face showed nothing but grit and determination. His long fingers tightened around hers, and she clasped them in both hands. "It was only luck that I spotted them first. Had Potter and the others also been flying at a higher altitude, our chances of not being seen would have significantly diminished."

"Where are they now?" She asked, her eyes scanning the skies.

"They've based themselves on the other side of the mountain and will be sending out patrols."

Her bracelet began to pulse again and the coin in her hand heated up. '_Coming to you_.' The next message came fast on its heels. '_Harry says they're on the move_.'

Snape tugged her hand and moved faster, his eyes glued to the sky. They stopped when the pulsing of their bracelets turned into a swift buzzing. Ron and Ginny appeared in front of them with serious faces. "Harry will be here in a few moments," Ginny said.

Hermione nodded. "We should be close to the cave," she said. "If they're on the other side of the mountain, we should be able to find the cave first. Let's hurry."

"No," said Harry's voice. They heard rocks scatter before he appeared out of thin air, gripping his broom in one hand and his wand in the other.

"No?" she asked. "Are we leaving then? But we're so close…"

"They tracked you here," Harry replied. "And they plan to wait until you find whatever it is you're looking for before they kill us and grab you." He lifted his wand and hit her with a charm. She felt a warmth flow over her and center on the small of her back. Ron swore under his breath and grabbed her by the shoulder, twisting her around. He swore louder when he saw the sigil glowing brightly through the weave of her t-shirt.

Snape lifted his wand, but Ron pushed his arm down. "They'll know as soon we cancel it," he said. Ron crouched down, and she grimaced at the way he seemed to be studying her arse intently. When he lifted her shirt and tugged down the waistband of her jeans, she could hear Snape grind his teeth.

"It's one of ours," Ron said, "but the question is, who tagged you? And how long have you been running around with it?"

Harry joined him behind her as she held her shirt up out of the way. "Look. Here. It's not one of ours. I think they tried to recreate the one we use. They did a pretty good job, but they didn't add the '_sto'_ hook here. See? They had to have been in a hurry."

Ron stood up and when she looked over her shoulder at him, he was nodding to himself. "We can exploit that," he said.

"How?" Snape demanded.

"The '_sto_' twist anchors the glyph. That means we can move it." Ron looked at Ginny. "How would you like to be a decoy?"

Ginny shrugged, and pulled out her wand. "My plans for the day were vague anyway. I was just hoping to be able to say I snogged Harry in Greece over the weekend." She hit her hair with a charm and Hermione winced as the silky, ginger tresses turned course, curly, and mouse brown.

Hermione panicked. "Wait. _No._"

"Don't be daft," Ginny said. "It's why we're all here."

Hermione shook her head. "Look, let's just leave and come back with more people later."

"Time isn't on our side, Granger." Snape gestured to Ron. "If Weasley has a plan, I want to hear it."

Harry gave her a brief, sympathetic smile, and then turned to Ron. "What _do_ you have in mind?"

"They're not after the cave like we are, right?"

"From what I overheard," Snape replied, "they were specifically here to grab Granger and whatever artifact she finds."

Ron nodded thoughtfully. "So they don't know why she's really here, they're just assuming she's after an object. How many of them did you say there were?"

"I counted fifteen," Harry said.

"Right. Here's my plan. We transfer Hermione's tracking glyph to Ginny, and then set up a panto where she searches one of the ruins, or a perhaps different cave, and appears to find something. We'll need to make it look kinda flashy. Gin, you're good with Transfigurations. Think up something good, glittering things make people stop thinking logically. Once she jumps up and down triumphantly, the three of us take off. All of us are handy on a broom, we should be able to draw them off on a merry chase. Then we'll pop back to England with Snape's Portkey." He turned to look at Snape. "I'm assuming you can make another one to get her home when you're done here?"

Snape nodded distractedly. "It's a good plan. However, we're running out of time." He pointed to the three dots circling in the sky just above the horizon to the east. They weren't birds. "How long will it take to transfer the glyph?"

"That depends on if Harry remembers how. I don't."

Ginny dropped her backpack and turned around so her back was facing her boyfriend. "Do I need to lift my shirt?"

"No," Harry said. "Just hold still."

Ron stepped away and let Harry perform the transfer. Hermione found herself struggling between wanting to cry and wanting to ask him a million questions about the procedure. Ron dug into his pack and pulled out a ham sandwich, a muesli bar and a bottle of water. Her eyes went wide as he began stuffing his face. "Is this really an appropriate time?" she snapped.

"We need an excuse for why we're sitting here, don't we?" he said with his mouth full, throwing the crusts of his sandwich on the ground. He crumbled the end of the snack bar and scattered that on top of a rock.

"Oh. I'm sorry. That's very clever."

He rolled his eyes at her. "Transferring the glyph is clever. This is commonsense. Really, woman." She huffed and looked away as he dug out another sandwich and shoved it into his gob.

"It's done," said Harry.

"Really? I didn't feel anything."

"You never felt the original. When we get back, we're going to have to sit down and figure that out, but I would say we're out of time. I think they spotted us."

The specks in the distance were coming straight for them now. Hermione felt the chill of Snape's Disillusionment Charm when he tapped her on the head. He faded from view just as quickly. Ron left a few more crumbs lying about as Ginny and Harry got set.

"We'll see you back at Grimmauld," Harry said. "Good luck."

"Be _careful_," she called after them. Ginny pulled out a postcard she'd bought for her dad and tapped it with her wand, enlarging it to look like a map. She pointed off toward the Temple of Apollo and the three of them headed off.

She stood there, biting her lip, until Snape murmured, "Come. We don't want to be here when they investigate Weasley's picnic remains." His fingers fumbled along her arm until he caught her hand, and she meekly let him lead her away.

They found a wide, flat rock further up the slope and sat down to watch what happened. Ginny led the others to an outcrop of limestone to the east of the temple. After much gesticulating, a convincing disagreement to Hermione's eyes, Ginny cracked the stone in half with a powerful Reducto that echoed across the mountainside.

"That will get their attention," whispered Snape.

"I hope they know what they're doing," Hermione hissed.

"They're Aurors," Snape said, reassuringly.

"Ginny's not. She plays for the Harpies."

"Who better on a broom then? And I can personally attest to Miss Weasley's fortitude in the face of adversity."

She growled, not her best sound, and said, "You don't understand. If I lose one of them, I'm finished. There's no way I'll be able to function. They're all I have."

She felt him go stiff beside her. He started to reply, but at that moment, there was a brilliant, golden flash. Hermione saw Ginny jumping up and down holding up some sort of golden idol about the size of a rugby ball. She shoved it into her backpack and the three of them pulled out their brooms. Just as they were about to kick off, the air filled with over a dozen people on brooms. Harry and Ron slashed the sky with spells and several of their assailants dropped to the ground. Hermione bolted up from her rock, but Snape grabbed her around the waist. Ginny shot off underneath them all with Harry and Ron on her tail. They flew so low to the ground they set off little dust devils in their wake. Spells flew, but to her eyes, no one else hit their target. They were out of sight in only a few heartbeats.

She stared off after them, willing them to get away, desperate for them to escape.

"There!" she shouted. In the distance, three dots zipped straight up into the sky, with a cloud of other dots close behind them. Then the three in front simultaneously rolled their brooms and Apparated, winking out of sight at the same time. A tremendous crack echoed across the sky a moment later. "Yes!" Hermione cried, jumping up and punching her fist into the air.

Those left behind circled the area for a few minutes before a handful of them, four or five, by her estimate, peeled away and started back towards where Ginny had made her 'find'. The rest popped out of sight, followed by the delayed echoes of their Apparitions.

"Come," Snape said, taking her by the sleeve. "You have work to do."

Hermione nodded, feeling tremendously relieved. She took a moment to orient herself, and then took his hand and led him toward where the cave had been marked on the map.

* * *

><p>:<p>

'nuff said.


	25. Chapter 25

**AN:** Onwards!

* * *

><p>It took them well over an hour to find it. They could have done so quicker had they felt comfortable using detection spells, but the people who had stayed behind were still lurking about somewhere. If they <em>had<em> left, they'd done so silently.

The entrance was little more than a split in the rock face. The carvings that had once adorned the exterior had been etched away by time until they looked like little more than an accident of nature. Snape had squeezed himself through the crack first, and when his voice finally called to her, it was echoing.

Inside, Snape had cancelled his Disillusionment Charm, and she could see the open curiosity on his face. His Lumos showed an antechamber carved into the limestone, with crude depictions of women, mostly breasts, bellies, and thighs that made Hermione feel rather good about herself. There were benches carved into the sides along with the remains of small animals and long-abandoned nests. He nodded his head to the back of the cave, and she saw a squared-off tunnel leading deeper into the mountainside.

He canceled the Disillusionment Charm he'd placed on her, and she lit her own wand and followed him through. The tunnel sloped down and eventually turned into a winding stair, the center of each step smoothed by the thousands of feet that had come this way before. Here and there a trickle of water seeped down the walls and made the path treacherously slick.

As they descended, the air grew thick and damp. It wasn't long before she was having trouble breathing.

"Hold on to me," he said putting his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. She wrapped both of hers around his waist, and he leaned against the damp wall, planting his feet. Taking her cue from him, she did the same, locking her hands together behind his back.

"_Mundarecaeli_!" he shouted before he threw his other arm around her and held her tight. The spell began with a low moan and quickly built up into a howl. Hermione pressed her face against his neck as the wind swirled with a near-lethal violence around them. The small opening to the cave turned the howl of the wind into a roaring scream. She could smell the fresh air from the outside as it blasted by, as well as the fetid air from below as it surged up. The wind tore at her hair and she felt Snape twist his face into her cheek to avoid it. The muscles in his back turned to steel cords as he fought to keep them from being ripped away from the wall in the onslaught. The howl dropped back to a low moan and then quieted, as the wind fell from a gale to a playful zephyr and then dissipated completely.

She looked back up the way they had come, wondering if their adversaries were already on their way. "I supposed it's too late to suggest a Bubble-head Charm?"

He snorted. "One needs a readily available supply of oxygen for that to work, Granger. We were running out if it. Obviously, you failed to notice that the air was turning into a mixture of carbon monoxide and methane."

She shook her head. "No. I didn't notice. I'm sorry I doubted you. I'm just worried. That made a hell of a noise."

He sighed, loosening his arms. "That was far louder than I had anticipated," he said, pulling away. "Unfortunately, the only alternative was to asphyxiate before we reached our goal." He gestured and she saw the desiccated corpse of what looked to have been a fox lying further down the steps.

He flicked his wand several times at the tunnel behind them, setting up Sentry Charms, and a few more that she didn't recognize. "That will give us some warning. Let's not waste any more time." He relit his wand, turned, and headed further down the passage.

With a last, worried look over her shoulder, she started off after him.

Ten minutes later, the tunnel flattened out and emptied into an enormous, dome-shaped chamber. Hermione frowned and looked around. In the center, there was an altar, several low, stone benches, and three long, stone couches. Dominating one wall was a large, white, marble statue of a woman—perhaps twelve feet high. Hermione decided it was a later addition and signified Gaia, rather than Cybele. There were divots in the floor and holes bored into the altar, but there wasn't any clue as to what their significance was. She assumed they'd once held braziers or sconces that had been looted or carted off to a museum ages ago. The walls were dark and splotchy, and closer inspection revealed they were covered in a thick layer of fungus.

Snape pulled a vial out of his pocket, and expanded it with a charm before he scraped some of the fungus into it with a pocket knife. Then he stepped back and aimed his wand at the wall.

"Careful," she whispered. He nodded and began a low chant. In an area about six inches by eight, the fungus began to smoke and then turned to powder before sifting down to the floor. Hermione came up behind him and looked over his shoulder, raising her wand to better see. The wedge-shaped lines carved into the stone formed crude pictograms that were unmistakable. "Cuneiform," she whispered.

"Can you read it?" he asked in a soft voice.

She wrinkled her nose in frustration and shook her head. "Even my brain has its limits."

"More?" he asked.

She gestured to another area. "Try here."

Again he raised his wand and eradicated the fungus obscuring the wall. Again, crude carvings were revealed. These ones were more fluid in design, and appeared to be far older, based on the weathering.

"I don't know these. Try again."

He swung his spell in a wider arc, removing the fungus in a three foot by one foot arc. This time, what was revealed elicited a gasp from both of them. Several different sets of carvings were revealed, randomly etched into the surface in no particular direction. The result looked like ancient graffiti. She didn't recognize the majority of them, only the section to the right, which was clearly French. Modern French. The words looked as old and worn as the cuneiform, but they could easily translate the part they could see. "Bless us …"

Snape swiped at the wall again, and the fungus fell away to reveal, "Mother Cybele."

Hermione clapped her hands together. "This is it!" She darted over to one of the stone couches and dumped her bag down, reaching in and pulling out parchment, ink, charcoal, and the rubbings she'd taken from the tablets they'd pulled from the slate box. She came back over and handed him a sheet as he sent globes of light drifting about the room. "What spell are you using?"

"Agaricum Interfectus"

"Show me."

He showed her the spell, and in a few moments they set about singeing the fungus from the walls. They fell into a pattern of clearing several square feet at a time before they would stop and consult their sheets, looking for a match. They found examples of writing from every corner of the globe. Pictograms from Asia were crammed up next to hieroglyphics from South America or sandwiched between Nordic runes. Frequently, they found the same alphabet used, but written in different ways, even the characters for Cybele seemed to change. It was a linguistic treasure trove, and even Snape seemed swept up in the excitement. He would frequently stop and gesture to a new language, asking her opinion as to its root.

They had cleared just under a third of the walls before there was a ping in the air by Snape's head. He reacted instantly, shoving the sheet he'd been holding at her as the tunnel echoed with screams.

"What the hell was that?" she said, staring up the stairs in shock. It had been a silly question really; she knew what the answer was. Snape hadn't only set Sentry Charms.

He Disillusioned himself, and she felt the rush of air as he passed her. "Keep going," he said. "_Find it!_"

She saw the ripple of light in the puddle by the tunnel entrance as he silently splashed through it.

Swallowing down the worry and terror that threatened to overwhelm her, she went back to her task. The globes of light floating through the air would tell her if he came to harm. Such spells ended when their casters lost consciousness…

…or died.

She set her jaw and swiped her wand at the wall. It only took five minutes before the tunnel filled with more screams. She worked at a frantic pace, slashing her wand at the wall with increasing desperation. The sounds of conflict echoing through the chamber pushed her close to tears.

In her panic, she almost missed what she was looking for. There, on the wall, were the familiar characters, close to Phoenician, but not quite, with the distinctive slanted lines between some of the characters, separating the words in an unfamiliar way. She hurried back over to the couch and snatched up a thin sheet of parchment and the charcoal. Slapping it against the wall, she began to take a rubbing. She cursed as a loud explosion startled her and felt the walls quiver under her hand. Despite all the harrowing shouts and shrills screams, she was reassured. The lights never wavered, and none of the screams had the deep, rich baritone of Severus's voice. That didn't mean much, he could have been silenced, but she took it for a good sign. As she scrubbed at the sheet with the charcoal, lifting the image of the characters from the wall, her eyes continuously darted to the floating globes of light. "Please don't die," she whispered. "I won't make it without you either." There was a last, deafening blast, and the following silence was only broken by the ringing of her ears.

She turned toward the tunnel with her mouth open and her eyes blurred from tears. It seemed like forever before she heard the tread of boots on the stairs. She was still standing there, uselessly holding the parchment sheet in one hand, and the stick of charcoal in the other when he came into view covered in white dust. The blood on his cheek was splattered in a way that made it obvious it wasn't his. She let out a shuddering sigh and dropped her arms down to her sides. She stared down at the floor where the tears rolling from her lashes splashed at her feet.

He pulled the sheet from her smudged fingers. "Is this it?" he asked. She nodded and swiped at her face. He winced and chuckled, and she assumed she'd just managed to smear her face with black.

"Don't laugh at me," she whispered. "Please, don't laugh at me." With that, she began to sob.

He frowned and set the parchment on a bench before he pulled out his wand and cleaned her face. "I'm not laughing at you," he said quietly.

She _really_ lost it then. "I can't keep doing this," she wailed. "It's like there's something wrong with me! Every time I get sucked in deeper, someone gets hurt. Every time I start actually finding it fascinating, someone dies! I was so afraid! I was so afraid for you!"

He scrubbed a hand through his hair in an unfamiliar gesture of agitation. "Hermione, everyone involved understands the risks…"

"_No!_" She stepped closer and stared into his eyes. The dust made him look older than he was, the way it creased around his eyes. The open confusion on his face spoke clearly to just how far out of his depth he was. He could defend her from faceless villains, but he didn't really know how to handle her tears. She shook her head. "Don't you _see?_ I don't _want_ the risks! I don't _want_ people to accept that they might die! I can't lose you! I don't want to _ever _lose you! I _love_—"

The escalating look of horror on his face and the way he threw his hand up to ward off the words spilling from her made her catch herself. "I love life too much to see it thrown away," she finished lamely, feeling her heart begin to bleed. Why was this so complicated? Why was it so easy for him to make her feel cherished one minute and like an utter fool for caring about him the next?

His manner grew stiff and unyielding as he turned away and picked up her rubbing to inspect. "We don't always get what we want, Granger. I would have thought you'd know that after watching Potter throw one tantrum after another because he thought life wasn't fair. Sniveling won't save the bloody world. Doing what one must, despite what they might wish for, is the only way to attain one's goals. You would do well to remember that." He held up the sheet of parchment. "Have we finished here?"

She stared at him, trying to understand his change in behavior while feeling her injured heart begin to calcify. She found herself stanching her emotional wound with anger. "Yes," she said in a flat voice. "I believe we're finished."

Snape's head jerked up at that last statement, but she only turned away and began packing up her things.

They left together, both of them on his broom. He flew them up through the tunnel with its winding steps, and she closed her eyes and pressed her face into his back when the stark, white walls showed splashes of red in her wandlight.

Once outside, she sat on a rock and waited while he created a Portkey out of a water bottle. Her head was spinning with all the thoughts it was trying to contain and process. The only thing she was sure of was that as tempting as Severus Snape was, there was an element about him that was too damaged. The fact that she cared deeply for him made her far too vulnerable to injury whenever he threw up his walls.

However, his words, painful as is had been to hear them, were true. Sniveling wouldn't save the world. Worrying about who did or didn't love her, or would or wouldn't die, would only weaken her resolve.

When he approached her with the water bottle, she settled her bag on her shoulder and reached out for it without comment or even a glance. His crisp, "_Portus_," set her world spinning even more.

:

Hermione stood in the middle of what had been her sitting room, clutching her beaded bad with her arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders. She'd been standing like that ever since she'd arrived home. She registered Harry and Ron and Quint nearby—a part of her was even aware of Keitch and his team off in her bedroom—but none of it really seemed to pierce the numbness.

"I'm really sorry," Ron said quietly. "I'm sure a good bit of it can be repaired."

She looked around at the wreckage of her home. "They're just things," she replied in a flat voice. "They're not important."

She turned her face away from the wreckage and let Ron Apparate her to Grimmauld.

* * *

><p>:<p>

Aww. Bad day.


	26. Chapter 26

**AN**: This chap is for Renaid. *nods*

* * *

><p>Ginny knocked on the door of the room Hermione had commandeered. She knew it was Ginny, because Harry and Ron made too much damned noise as they barreled down the hall. "Come," Hermione called over her shoulder.<p>

The door opened, and Ginny slipped inside with an armful of books. "This was all they had on code breaking," she said, stacking them on the table by the door. "McGonagall had Madam Pince assist me, and she picked out a few more that she thought might help."

"Excellent," Hermione said, not looking up from her notes.

She heard Ginny moving around, picking up and setting down the reams of parchment scattered on all the tables. "Wouldn't it be better to let Snape help you?" she asked. It wasn't the first time she'd asked, and she hadn't been the first one to ask that.

Hermione gave her the same answer as always. "It might be easier, but it wouldn't be safer. Betrayal comes in all forms. No one needs to know what I discover."

Ginny pulled out a stool and sat down. Hermione lifted her head and looked at her. The room was on the top-most floor, and had the most windows of any room at Grimmauld. Hermione had appropriated it as her research center, taking the small room next door as a bedchamber. She'd sent Ron to Hogwarts to bring back the tablets and had holed herself up in her new retreat days ago.

"Hermione…"

Ginny's warm brown eyes irritated her. Why couldn't she _see?_ Her decision had been made. No more distractions. Hermione found herself resentful that the Harpies were out of the league. If they'd just scored twenty more points in that last game, Ginny wouldn't be sitting here trying to make her feel bad that Snape was apparently moping about the castle.

"You ran into him, didn't you?" she asked.

"You know I did. He showed up as if he'd been expecting me."

"He most likely was. He's not stupid. He knew I would need those books and probably had a Sentry Charm on them." Hermione narrowed her eyes at her. "Did you tell him anything?"

Ginny frowned at her. "You asked me not to. Really, Hermione, this trust thing is making you a bit of a bitch."

Hermione grimaced. "I'm sorry. You know I didn't mean to imply anything."

Ginny waved her hand. "Forget it. I still think you're being foolish, though. You said yourself that he's always been a help when you've hit a dead end. You remember what you told me you said to the Iranian fellow? That your skill was in getting others to find your answers for you?"

"Farzeem would have been a help," she replied in a flat voice. "Snape? He's good with Portkeys and libraries, but I knew more about languages in my fifth year than he does now."

"Then why don't you call in an Unspeakable?"

Hermione sighed and threw down her quill. "Because I don't trust them," she said.

"Why?"

"_Why?_ Why should I? Caleb was an Unspeakable. Osterhoudt was an Unspeakable. Worple's the Chief Unspeakable and I trust her as far as I could throw her. If it wasn't for Shacklebolt, I'd have tossed her off the team ages ago. I don't trust any of those bastards."

Ginny sighed and shook her head. "All right. I won't try and persuade you any differently. I'm just worried. We all are. Ever since you returned from Greece, you've been… cold."

"No. I've been _busy_. I've only got the entire world hinging on whether or not I can decipher an ancient language based on a single known phrase."

"But you aren't looking for experts. You aren't asking for help."

"I can't trust anyone else!" she snapped.

Ginny threw up her hands. "Who said it had to be a wizard? Did it never occur to you that perhaps the Muggles already know what language this is?"

Hermione blinked several times and then tilted her head to the side. "No, actually. That never occurred to me at all." Looking around at all her papers, she smiled. "What a _fantastic_ idea!"

She jumped up and grabbed her bag, charming it to look like a Muggle briefcase before she began cramming it full. When she was done, she pecked Ginny on the cheek. "Don't tell anyone I've left. I don't want anyone following me."

"Where are you going? You know you're not supposed to go anywhere!"

She snatched a jacket off the hook by the door and then Disillusioned herself so she could sneak out. "Oxford!"

"Hermione, wait. Let me come with you!"

"Don't worry, I have my coin and my bracelet!" With that, she raced down the stairs.

:

Hermione sat in the tiny office with her briefcase on her lap and waited. The slap, slap, slap as the leather case hit her bouncing knees was oddly soothing. She looked around at the walls, covered in the ubiquitous posters and notices promoting some cause or underground music group that one would find in a graduate student's office. A part of her was wistful. She would have liked this life. The messy desks the computers customized with graffiti or stickers. The rubbish bins full to bursting with old crisp packets. _If I ever do save the world, I might just enroll in Uni_, she thought to herself. _It would be nice to pretend I was normal for once._

Her reverie was interrupted when the door was violently flung open. She only just managed to get her knees out of the way. A woman in her mid-twenties, black, with square-framed glasses and chunks of blue and green in her choppy, spiked hair squeaked in surprise when she saw her.

"Oh! I'm so sorry! I wasn't expecting—Oh bugger! I _should_ have been expecting! You're Henrietta Grammar, right?"

Hermione stood up and held her hand out, wincing at how badly the woman had mangled her name. "Hermione Granger, actually."

"Right, _Granger_. I'm terrible with names. Professor Bindar told me to expect you. I'm sorry. I lost track of myself. I'm Anne, by the way, Anne Peete. Boring I know, but we can't all be Hermiones. Have a seat," she said flopping down in her own. "Did you want some coffee? There's a vending machine down the hall. It's horrid, but it does the job."

"No, thank you. I'm fine."

The other woman slapped her hands down on her thighs. "So, you want a computer to run a symbol check? Bindar said something about linguistic decryption…"

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "I'm not going to lie. I know enough about computers to check email, but the rest of it is over my head. I'm looking to break a code, yes, but it's an ancient language. I have one phrase translated, and need to use it to figure out the rest of it."

Anne's face lit up. "You have part of it? That's better than nothing. What language is it?"

"I don't know. It's similar to Phoenician, but I can't really tell if it predates it or is an offshoot. I _can_ tell you that it's boustrophedon."

"Hold up. You lost me there. I'm a computer dork, not a language dork. Bindar knows boostoboodle; I just help him with the odd word search now and again."

"Sorry. It just means that every other line is written in the other direction. The letters are reversed as well."

"Oh. Well, that's not a problem. We'll just flip them back. Provided we know which is the right way. Have you got it with you? We can start scanning it in now…"

"I _do_." Hermione flipped open her briefcase and pulled out several sheets of parchment. Anne looked at them askance, but then shrugged and started loading them into the scanner one at a time. She spent the next hour cutting and reversing sections of the images on the screen until all the characters faced the same way.

"Now we let the computer run imaging programs and develop it into a library of symbols. This will take a while. You sure you don't want coffee? Tea? We have enough time to head to the canteen."

Hermione stared at the computer willing it to work faster. "I'd love to."

:

"So yeah, there was me with my knickers hanging off one foot, Professor Schlecter squealing like an injured piglet on top of me, and in walks my boyfriend, Alexander. _Not_ one of my better moments. But, yes, I sympathize with falling for a professor. It's never what it's cracked up to be, but it's a hell of a lot of fun while you're cracking, isn't it?"

Hermione snorted through her nose and reached for the napkin dispenser. "You're awful! But, _yes_. The _cracking_ can be pretty incredible. Do you think it's really them? Or is it just the dynamic that makes it seem so amazing. I have to tell you, I had my chances with some really good-looking blokes and tossed them all over for this homely man with stringy, greasy hair. I swear to you, he's the best lover I've ever had."

"I think it's both. You mentioned the nose. We all know about blokes with big noses. But then there's the fact that he treats you like shite. That can be kind of addictive for us swots. I think you have a classic situation. Not a healthy one, mind, but a bit stereotypical, nonetheless."

"You think? He doesn't really treat me like shite. At first, I was the one that said I didn't want emotions involved. I can't really sit here and whine because he doesn't want me to be emotional. That's a bit too hypocritical, even for me."

Anne laughed and picked up her tray, jerking her head towards the door. "That does change it a bit. Can't cry foul when he's following your rules. Come on. I'm sure we've given it enough time by now. Let's put in your translation and see what we come up with."

The two women made it back to Anne's office, where the screen flashed a notification that the first decryption program had finished running.

Anne's hands flew across the keys and Hermione couldn't make any sense of what she was doing. The computer chirped and Anne reached her hand out. "Okay, gimme the translated bit."

Hermione handed over her working copy. It was the most faithful to the actually rubbing.

"This is it?" Anne asked. "Bless us, Mother Cybele?"

Hermione scrunched up her face. "That's it."

Anne raised her eyebrows and whistled. "You don't ask for much, do you?"

Hermione barked a laugh that fell flat, even to her ears. "You have _no_ idea," she said.

Anne gave her a quizzical glance and then slipped the sheet into the scanner. Hermione watched as the image came up on the screen. The program seemed to trace it, outline it, throw it into relief, and then scrambled it into pixels, before it resolved back into its original state. It chirped and Anne pounded the enter key. She sat back and clasped her hands behind her head.

"If we're lucky, this will take a—" The computer chirped again and a small window popped up. "Damn. We're not lucky." She sat forward and opened several files, looking at code that meant nothing to Hermione. "Sorry, Granger. Your translated sample was too small."

Hermione sat down heavily in the other chair and dropped her face into her hands. "You've no idea how much is riding on this," she whispered.

"I can run diagnostics," Anne offered, "and we can probably break down patterns and structure, but without having a clue what they're saying, none of that will really help. The best I can do is replace the letters we know with our own alphabet, but I'm thinking that would have been the first thing you tried."

Hermione gave her a listless nod. "I tried that first." She stood up and started stuffing her notes back into her briefcase. "Thanks anyway. You've been a big help, despite everything, and I had fun chatting with you. I'm sorry I took up your afternoon."

Anne started biting her stubby fingernails. "Hang on. You said it was like another language, right?"

"It's similar to Phoenician."

"Has anyone figured out how to read Phoenician?"

"Yes, of course."

Anne tapped her hands against the edge of her desk. "Let's try one last thing before we give up," she muttered, more to herself. Hermione sat down with her briefcase in her lap and bit her lip.

:

"Oh, my god, you have to listen to this one. You'll love it. It will absolutely apply." Anne thumbed the skip button on her CD player until she got to the track she wanted and then jammed the headphones back over Hermione's ears. "It's Cat Power. She's a Yank, but her voice… Oh, my _god_. You _have_ to hear it…"

Hermione hit play and threw her feet back on the desk. It had been two hours since Anne had set the machine to find comparisons between the Phoenician alphabet, and the ancient text that Hermione had given her. She'd given the computer both languages' versions of 'Bless us, Mother Cybele,' and hit enter. The fact that it was taking forever was, according to Anne, a good thing.

Hermione closed her eyes and bobbed her head along to the music.

It was another hour, and three more CD's, before Anne patted her on the leg.

Pulling off the headphones, she said, "Okay, you're right. The Sugarbabes _are_ a guilty pleasure." She caught the expression on her new friend's face and frowned. "What's wrong?"

Anne pointed to the computer screen. "Granger, what's the Crystal of Time? And what does it mean when it says, 'The end of all things?' What are you _into?_"

:

Hermione left Oxford with a heavy heart, a weakened resolve, and a briefcase full of computer paper. She took one last look over her shoulder, regretting the Obliviate she'd had to cast. She would've liked to have had a friend like Anne. There'd been something almost painfully normal about her.

With a sigh, she headed to the nearest Apparition site, where she found Harry sitting on a low wall, swinging his legs back and forth. "Ginny told me you were here. She thought she'd go ahead and get her betrayal out of the way so you would trust her."

Hermione snorted and gave him a sad smile.

"Do you want to tell me?" he asked in a quiet voice.

She sighed and shrugged. "Tell me what you felt when your head came out of the pensieve that last day," she said in a quiet voice.

Harry grimaced and pulled her against his shoulder. "Like I'd died already, so doing it again wasn't a big deal," he answered.

She nodded and closed her eyes. "Call a meeting for tomorrow night," she whispered. "Gather everyone."

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><p>:<p>

And so we begin the race toward the end...

Should only take eleven more chapters.


	27. Chapter 27

**AN:** Thank you to all my reviewers. I wish I had enough time to reply to each and every review. Also, extra thank yous to my Hebe for being able to keep up with me.

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><p>Hermione looked around the room she'd been using for her research. Her notes where in a neat pile on the table she'd been using as a desk. The printed translations took pride of place on top. Next to that sat the slate box, which had been restored to its original state with the petrified wood tablets sealed within. The little alabaster box sat on top of it, held shut with a new steel pin. The stacks of books were organized according to where she'd borrowed them from, and the other tables around the room were now empty. She sighed.<p>

So much time and energy had gone into the struggle for the knowledge she now held. So many lives had been lost. The fact that the worst was still ahead of her didn't keep her from a listless feeling of anticlimax.

She pulled a plain, silver, heart-shaped pendant out of her pocket and clicked it open. It had once belonged to her grandmother, and her mother had given it to her when she'd told her they'd chosen to stay in Australia. Laying it on the desk, she picked up the stack of computer paper—the translations of the tablets, with her notes written in the margins—and laid them down on the locket. With a sigh and a wordless spell, the papers shrank down until they fitted inside the locket. Snapping it shut, she opened the clasp and put it on, dropping it down the front of her robes. That done, she lifted her wand and cast an Incendio on all the other papers, watching her notes burn to ash. She Vanished the residue and flicked out an Air-freshening Charm.

She heard Ron's feet stomping up the stairs and turned toward the door just as it opened.

"You've destroyed your notes already?" he asked as he looked around the room, now devoid of its overriding parchment décor.

She shrugged. "I didn't need them anymore. I have the translation on me, everything else is too dangerous. I can't let it fall into the wrong hands. Did you find the woman I asked you about?"

"I did. We can stop there when we've dealt with the other stuff." He pulled out the stool and sat down. "Have you got a minute? I have something to run by you."

She sat in the other chair and waited for him to gather his thoughts.

"It's about the Tracking Charm that was put in you. We think it was done by one of us. We've gone back over your movements. If you already had it at the Black Lake, why wouldn't they have sent someone to Hogwarts to check to see what we were up to? It _had_ to have been put on you after that, and the only place you'd been, aside from your place and Snape's, was here. I think it was someone at the meeting we had before Greece. Either Philips or Worple. I can't see Philips willingly choosing to have organ damage _or_ raise turnips. I really don't see him as the type to join a crime syndicate either. He's too uptight. However, as calm and patient as Worple seems, we have nothing but Kingsley's word as to her character."

Hermione grimaced and nodded. "My money's on Worple as well."

"Why?"

"Honestly? Osterhoudt told me that Caleb had an Unspeakable wrapped around his finger when he worked in the Time room. I've also been told that he has a history of exploiting a woman's emotions, engendering an almost fanatical loyalty. Caleb and Worple are of an age. They might've gone to school together. I can't really explain it, but ever since I met her, I've had a feeling that she didn't have my best interests at heart."

Ron nodded. "Which brings me to the second thing."

She twisted her head to the side.

"I think the meeting tonight presents an opportunity to set a trap. You let slip just enough to get our spy's interest, and we'll make it so they think they only have a small window of time in which to grab your notes before you destroy them." He looked around at the tidy room. "It would look better if you made it seem like you'd been working nonstop in here again." He gestured to the slate box on the desk. "I'd even make another of those, if possible. Ginny can help. She's brilliant at Transfigurations. We'll bait the trap, and when our traitor falls into it, we'll catch them."

Hermione pulled out her wand. "Consider it done."

:

Hermione watched as Ron waded in up to his ankles. Bending down, he submerged the alabaster box in the water and lifted the lid. The wind tossed his ginger hair around, and as he looked back over his shoulder at her, his smile made her heart ache. Ron and Harry were, beyond doubt, the best friends a person could ever have. With her parents choosing to stay in Australia, they had become her family. Nevertheless, there was always something bittersweet in these moments with Ron. A razor cut of a thought, so painless at first, so awful after. Why hadn't they ever been what the other person needed?

As if sensing her thoughts, his smile turned pensive, and he capped the box and pulled it out of the water. Splashing over to where she was perched on the rock, he heaved himself up next to her.

"I'm sorry," he said softly reaching for his socks and shoes.

"For what?"

"For everything. For the fact that you got swept up in this mess. For the fact that your grand, new promotion turned out to be a lie. Mostly, I'm sorry for the things I said the last time we were here. I know I was a prat."

She heaved a heavy sigh and reached over and grabbed his hand. "I understand," she said. "You don't need to apologize for that. You wouldn't have been so angry if you hadn't cared."

He squeezed her hand back. "Yeah, but I should have seen what Harry saw. Instead, I was mad that you weren't as strong as I'd always thought you were. I expected you to be better than me. If I were in your shoes, I'd be sitting at Mum's table eating all day long, wishing the world would go away."

She laughed. It was an image she could easily see, despite the fact that it really wasn't who he was. "I'd love to sit at your mum's table and eat all day. I think I was close to that point after the lake, but a wise man told me that you have to keep going. He said once you sit down in the road, it's over. You've failed."

Ron looked out across the water to where the giant squid was now approaching. "Who said that?" he asked.

"Snape," Hermione answered, picking up the slate box and shifting to the edge of the rock.

"I can see that. He'd know personally, wouldn't he? Poor bugger probably wanted to sit down in the road more than anyone."

Hermione looked over her shoulder at him and gave him a solemn nod. Ron cocked his head to the side, looking at her speculatively. "You love him, don't you?"

She grimaced, shrugging. "I do, or maybe it's 'did' already. He's made it plain that he doesn't want me to."

"Why?" He managed to sound personally offended. "What's wrong with you loving him? Is he barmy? He could do _loads_ worse than you."

Hermione laughed. "Thank you. I think." She shrugged again, turning her attention to the squid as it swam closer. "I really don't know why. He won't talk about it. Those times we've come close, he's basically asserted that I'm wasting my time."

She tossed it the pieces of toast that she'd brought, and then lifted up the box so it could see it. It hooted a quiet note and lifted one of its tentacles out of the water, gently slapping at her face before wrapping it around the box and plucking it out of her hands. Ron gave a yelp, and Hermione turned in time to see him wrestling with another tentacle. Smiling, she said, "Let it go."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

Ron pulled his hands away and they both watched as the squid carried the small, alabaster box under the waves lapping at the rocks. With a low, crooning song, it rolled into the deeper water and swam away.

She stood up and swiped at her face with the sleeve of her robes. "Ugh. Now I smell like squid."

He laughed and jumped off the rock onto dry land, lifting a hand for her to take. "So do you think you are?" he asked.

"Think I am, what?"

"Wasting your time with Snape?"

She jumped down and turned to look at the castle. "Yeah. I think I have been. I started to get very wrapped up in him, and I just got hurt. That was stupid. I need to keep my focus. It wouldn't look good for me to screw up the world because I was sulking over a boy."

Ron fell into step next to her as they set off back up the hill. "He's hardly a boy."

Hermione snorted. "I'm not really sure about that. I mean, yes, he's obviously a man, and he can be pretty terrifying when he's in Death Eater mode, but other times… he just strikes me as a lost little boy." She wrinkled her nose. "That's not exactly it, but I can't think of a better way to phrase it."

"So have you told him to shove off?"

She shook her head. "There wasn't a lot of conversation going into it, and I don't think he's interested in a lot of conversation on the way out."

"That seems cold."

"I know. That's the way he likes things."

Ron looked over at her, his face scrunched up with sympathy. He stopped and tugged on her sleeve, pulling her closer. "He really hurt you, didn't he?"

The warmth and sympathy in his voice was her undoing. She dropped her head on his shoulder and began to quietly weep, nodding her answer.

"You want me to break his legs? Mind you, I'd probably need Harry's help. I don't think I could take Snape alone in a duel."

Hermione snorted against his robes, blowing out a bubble of snot. She jumped back and fished in her pockets for a tissue as he Vanished the mess. "Thanks. I needed that. And no. I don't want you to break his legs. I don't want to hurt him at all. Snape is just Snape. He is what he is. He tried to warn me from the start, but for some reason I just refused to listen." She shook her head and swiped at her tear-stained face. "He's just… He can be really wonderful, you know? I can't help but want more of _that_ Snape."

Ron shuddered. "Can we not go down pathways that force me to imagine him naked?"

Hermione's eyes went wide and then she swatted him on the arm. It was statements like that that reminded her why she and Ron never had a prayer. She laughed and bumped his arm with her shoulder. "I love you," she said. "You're such a git."

He narrowed his eyes at her in confusion. "Thanks. I think." They headed toward the front gate of the school. "So, tell me why we're going to talk to this woman that I've never heard of?"

"I want to ask her about something."

"About the crystal?"

"No. It's got nothing to do with the investigation. It's more of a personal indulgence. You know the scenario, 'you only have one day to live, but you can use it to meet anyone you'd like. Who would you choose…?'"

Ron's eyebrows jumped up, and then snapped back down. "And you want to use your one chance to meet this… Gertrude Soren, née Elgen?"

Hermione gave him a tight smile. "Yep."

"Why?"

Hermione looked back over her shoulder as they reached the gates of the school. She stared at the silhouette standing atop the astronomy tower with his hair and robes streaming out in the wind. "Oh, I've got quite a few questions for old Gertie."

:

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><p>:<p>

Speaking of Gertie… Today is **pilky's** 50th birthday! I have it on good authority that she is going to spend the day recovering from the night before. Since no over-indulgence is complete without remorse, I thought we could help make her day special by shouting at her. Therefore, I ask that all reviews be written in CAP LOCK, and that you include as many lyrics from the Village People's **In the Navy** as possible. Because that's what you want in your head when you're recovering from turning 50. *nods*


	28. Chapter 28

**AN:** THANK YOU ALL FOR PARTICIPATING IN PROJECT PILKY! THAT WAS A COMPLETE SUCCESS!

**Warning**: Implied Sexual Abuse.

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><p>Hermione pulled her hood up and over her face before Ron Apparated her to Knockturn Alley. They both kept their hands on their wands as he guided her around a corner and into a shadowed alcove that smelled vaguely of old socks and wet newspapers. He pushed open a door and let her step in before him. Peeking out from under her hood, she saw a small vestibule with two doors on either side and a cramped staircase leading up. The flooring was cracked tiles, the pink and blue barely visible through the grime. It smelled like cat urine and sounded like an asylum for deranged children. The small entryway echoed with the pounding of small feet and the screeching of lungs that surely should have been too small for such a racket. He nudged her on the back, and she set off up the stairs. When they reached the first landing, he led her to the door on the right-hand side. More screaming children could be heard. Ron knocked before stepping back and motioning to her.<p>

"Hush! I told you all to be _silent!_" a woman yelled, as heavy feet pounded closer. The door opened a crack, revealing half a mouth and one suspicious, honey-colored eye. "Yes?"

"I'm looking for Gertrude Sorin?"

"So?"

"I was told she lived here."

"And I was told my rent was only fifty galleons a month. We all get told tales. Who are you?"

Hermione bit her lip, pushing her hood off her head. "Mrs. Sorin doesn't know me, but I have some questions to ask her about some people she knew in the past."

"Yeah? What type of people? Answering questions could get a body in some trouble."

Lifting up an imploring hand, Hermione said, "If she's here, tell her I wanted to ask her about Severus Snape and… Caleb Lloyt." Ron's head came up, and he stared at her, but she refused to look at him.

The woman's eyes widened, and she pulled the door open wider, revealing herself to be a plump woman in her late fifties, with graying brown hair pulled back in a severe bun, and faded blue robes. "Lord, it's been a lifetime since I heard either of those names." She looked Ron up and down and then dismissed him. "You can come in. You boyfriend stays out."

"Fine," Hermione blurted when Ron looked like he was going to object. "That'll be fine, thank you."

She followed the woman inside and looked back over her shoulder at Ron as the door banged shut in his face. The ward that the woman threw up didn't seem like it would pose any problems for him.

"Is Gertrude here?"

The woman nodded as a little girl in pigtails with jam smeared on her mouth came running up to clutch her mother's skirts. "Aye, that would be me. I'm Gertie. And you are?"

"I'm… Ginny."

"Well, come in then. I suppose you'll be wanting tea?"

"Not if it's a bother. Don't take the trouble."

The woman scooped up the little girl and swiped at her face, pecking her on the cheek before setting her down and swatting her rump. "Off you go. Tell Betty to put on the kettle and all of you stay out of the front room." She straightened up and gestured to the doorway on the right. "Come. They're a riot most days, especially the boys, but they know to leave me be when I have company. We should be able to talk."

Hermione followed the woman into a small sitting room with an old settee and two tattered armchairs. The room was clean and neat, not a speck of dust to be found, but everything in it had seen far better days, including Gertie herself. As the woman lit a few candles and got settled, Hermione reflected on the fact that Gertie was only two years older than Severus, and yet looked far more than that.

"So. What is it you want to know? I've been following Snape in the papers, more or less, but I haven't a clue what Caleb's been doing these last ten years," the older woman said.

Now that she was here, Hermione's conviction failed her, leaving all her rehearsed questions sounding stupid in her head. She took a moment to compose herself, disguising it as a need to smooth a wrinkle out of the skirts of her robes.

"First of all, I feel I should tell you that Mr. Lloyt is no longer with us. He died in Spain two weeks ago."

She didn't know what reaction to expect, and from the flickering expressions on Gertie's face, she didn't know either. "Are you sure?" she said in a quiet voice. "He always had his tricks."

Hermione nodded. "He died in a fire in Toledo, Spain."

Gertie looked around the room with a dazed, almost blank expression. "I don't know what to say. I feel like I should be upset, but I find myself almost glad." She looked back at Hermione. "That must make you think less of me, I'm sure, but if you knew Caleb well, you'd understand."

Hermione sat forward a little. "I want to understand. I've had a chance to get to know both gentlemen recently, under some very strange circumstances, and your name came up as someone who knew them both when they were young. I was sort of hoping you might shed some light into their characters. I find them two of the most confusing gentlemen I've ever met."

The woman barked a harsh laugh. "You have a fine way of mincing words. They made an odd pair of bookends, didn't they? There couldn't be two people more the alike and more different at the same time."

Hermione tilted her head to the side. "How so?"

Gertie snorted. "Oh, when they were young they were both rabid to prove themselves, full of ambition. Typical Slytherins, the pair of them. They were both book smart and purse poor. They were both deeply ashamed of where they'd come from and desperate to get away from it, and they both made stupid decisions. And yet, the way they went about it was so markedly different."

"What do you mean?"

The woman sighed and looked off into the past. "Lloyt wanted money. Snape wanted power. Lloyt tried one of anything to get what he wanted, and he tried some amazingly stupid things. Snape had an incredible ability to focus on one goal and nothing else, even to the point of stupidity. Lloyt was incapable of love and remorse, and Snape was addicted to love and remorse. As far as I know, Lloyt never got what he wanted. Snape got exactly what he'd wanted and regretted it within hours. It was as if they were opposite sides of the same coin, except Caleb was ice and Severus was fire."

Hermione blinked in confusion. "I wonder why he changed?"

"Which one?"

"Severus. He's cold to the point of frost bite now."

Gertie stared at her for a long moment while another girl, about twelve years old, came in with a tea tray. Hermione squirmed under the older woman's scrutiny while the tea was poured and small lemon tarts were plated up and passed around.

When the girl left, Gertie sipped her tea, set it aside, and folded her hands in her lap. "You're not his type."

Hermione's expression must have been interesting, because the other woman laughed and slapped her knee. "Oh, don't bother to deny it, girl. In fact, I think it's rather sweet. But you're wasting your time. Snape has only ever cared for one woman, and she may be twenty years in her grave, but according to the papers she's still alive in his heart. The man I knew will never care for another. You might catch his eye, but you're fooling yourself if you think you can catch his heart."

Doing her best to hide her pained reaction with a sip of tea, Hermione set the cup down and sighed. "So he's told me," she said in a soft voice.

Gertie frowned. "_Did_ he? Well. I wonder... "

Hermione felt herself blush and inspected her manicure.

Gertie picked up her tea again, staring at Hermione as she sipped. "Interesting," she said finally. "Tell me, how did you know Caleb?"

"I met him at work."

Gertie's eyes narrowed. "Where do you work?"

"At the Ministry. I work in a small office that deals with measurements."

Gertie wrinkled her nose. "Forgive me for being rude, but are you wealthy? Have you recently come into a bit of money?"

"No, not at all."

"Odd. Tell me how Caleb treated you."

"Well, he flirted with me for a while, and eventually asked me on a date." Hermione scrunched up her face. "We never actually got a chance to go out together, things cropped up that got in the way and then..." She lifted and empty hand in lieu of finishing her words.

Gertie snorted. "And when did our dear Severus swoop into the picture? Before or after you'd met Caleb?"

Hermione almost refused to answer. She knew that her next words would take away something she'd wanted to keep. She stared down at her hands. "After."

Gertie tsked in sympathy and shook her head. "I'm sorry, Ginny. From the look on your face, I think you've already guessed you've been used. You can't trust Slytherins, they always have another motive. The two of them have an old enmity. I can tell you that whatever small wound to your pride Snape has caused you, it's probably better than the grievous harm that Caleb Lloyt would have caused had you made that date."

Hermione spread her hands out and patted her knees before clasping them together and giving the woman a sharp nod. "Can you explain that? Caleb managed to get himself into a lot of hot water before he died, and it could be useful to understand him better."

Gertie gave her a flat stare. "I'll help you understand him, alright. Caleb Lloyt was a mercenary bastard. He was greedy to the point of obsession and his heart was a shriveled stone. He could come over as charm personified, but don't you believe it. He knew he was handsome, and he used it to his advantage. He had no conscience. If he asked you to go out with him, he wanted something he thought you could provide. He left a string of broken women behind him, including me and my own sister. In fact, it was Severus who saved me from him, finally forcing me to see him for what he truly was. If it hadn't been for him, I'd probably have _still _been throwing myself after Caleb Lloyt, desperate for just one kind word. I know Snape was just repaying his debt like a good little Slytherin, but I still feel as if I owe him for making me see Lloyt for what he was."

Hermione blinked several times. "I'm sorry, what do you mean, 'just repaying his debt?' Severus told me he'd helped you because you were his friend."

Gertie's eyes widened, and she went motionless for so long that Hermione couldn't tell if the woman was still breathing. "He _told_ you?" she hissed.

Too late, Hermione remembered that what Severus had related to her had been incredibly personal. She felt her face turn bright red and flailed for a way to cover her abject stupidity. She failed. "I'm sorry, I assure you I would never repeat what he said..."

That seemed to make things worse. The older woman's face went from shocked, to betrayed, to enraged in an eye blink. "What did he say? Why did he say _anything at all_? That _bastard!_ Did he tell you how we _met?_ That he was the school's number one brewer of abortifacients and contraception? The tart's best_ friend? _I suppose he told you how many years I let Caleb use me as a punchbag until he'd put a permanent, high-pitched screech in this ear?" The woman jabbed a finger at the left side of her head.

"No! No, you mustn't…" Hermione shook her head, holding her hands up before her to try and stop the woman's escalating tirade.

"How _dare_ he! That little _turd_! He'd no right to tell my secrets!"

"He didn't want to!"

Gertie was beyond listening. "Did he tell you all about me ending up working the streets and leave out the fact that he ended up little more than a whore himself? I suppose he neglected to tell you how I saved _him?"_

Hermione shook her head, desperate to get the woman to calm down, but what came out of her mouth wasn't what she'd intended to say. "Saved him from what?"

"Oh, ho! Wouldn't _you_ like to know! In fact, I'll tell you, since he was so free with my life! Snape had no idea about what was expected from the newest members. The Death Eaters' little initiation rituals always included a bit of _humiliation _to show them just how far down on the ladder they were. They cloaked it in euphemism, spouting nonsense about surrendering the will and becoming one with their vision, but they really just loved to hear the poor, little sods _scream_…"

Hermione felt all the blood drain from her face as her heart slammed to a halt in her chest.

The woman surged forward in her chair, her hands curled into talons. "I found him lying on the floor of his father's shed after his first meeting. He was curled into a ball half naked and staring in horror at his shiny, new tattoo while bleeding from his—"

"_Stop!_" Hermione's shout set off some crying from another part of the flat and both women turned. The room was filled with their heavy breathing as they listened to the older daughter shushing the little ones.

"He didn't tell me any that," she hissed, struggling for composure. "He _never_ bragged about your shame the way you've done his!" She sucked in a deep breath and in a quieter voice, said, "He told me of a pretty girl who was kind to him when no one else was. A girl who gave him his first kiss. A girl that he listened to and encouraged, until his eyes were opened and he realized how much he'd harmed her with his false understanding." Hermione shook her head, feeling sick from the other woman's vicious revelations. "I don't know your entire story, but the story he _did_ tell was of a person he valued, a person he mourned because he didn't know if she was alive or dead." Hermione shook her head. "I don't believe he deserves your fury."

Gertie stared at her, obviously struggling with her emotions. Two pink spots appeared high on her cheeks, and she turned her face to the wall. "Forgive me," she whispered. "I spoke… too much. I wasn't expecting so much anger after all these years. I—please forgive me."

Hermione blinked several times and pressed her fingertips to her mouth. Now that the crisis seemed to have passed, she found herself struggling with tears. She nodded her head, unable to speak for the moment, and reached for her tea. The two women sat in silence as they both pulled themselves together. Gertie set her plate in her lap and began to crumble the edges of her tart. Hermione looked over at hers, but her stomach lurched. She couldn't have taken a bite if her life depended on it.

"He was so proud of himself," Gertie said in barely a whisper, "thinking he was going to be someone of stature after he joined them. It's all he'd ever wanted. To be important. Powerful. I didn't believe any of the politics he spewed. It was all stuff and nonsense, blood lines and superiority. None of that meant anything to me, but it meant everything to him, so I listened. He honestly thought that it would impress her. His Lily. He lived and breathed his Lily… Gods, but he loved her.

"His last two years of school were a torment. There was a group of students that made his life a living hell. He was counting the days until he could join Malfoy's little men's club. He envisioned a future full of compatriots who would welcome him and stand with him in any conflict. I never said a word. It all sounded like the usual boasting of boys to me. I should have said something. I should have told him what I'd really thought."

Hermione swallowed past the lump in her throat.

Gertie looked up from the ruined tart in her lap, her eyes looked like two bruises on her face. "There was a party after their initiation with lots of drinking and drugs. Severus was only seventeen at that time and didn't indulge in either. He was stone-cold sober when the older ones decided to play their games. The other candidates were so far gone they didn't put up much resistance, so as a consequence they weren't as interesting. Severus _fought_." Gertie closed her eyes. "They won."

Hermione sniffed and swiped at the tears spilling down her face.

"He sent me a Patronus. I'd never seen one before. It was beautiful, a doe as gentle as his soul." The other woman sucked in a deep breath and blew it out. "When I found him, he was a wreck, as you can imagine. The scales had truly fallen from his eyes to say the least. He was terrified and trapped. The fact that he'd put up such a struggle had earned him the suspicion of a few and the _interest_ of others. He knew his nightmare was only just beginning." She lifted her hand, palm up. "So I helped him." Her hand dropped back into her lap. "By that point, I knew far too much of all the wrong sorts of things. My family had thrown me out, and Caleb would leave me to fend for myself for months at a time before he would return. I was earning my keep in the only way left to me, and sadly, I was good at it, so I figured I had a few things to teach him."

She shrugged. "You asked earlier where his fire went. The answer is I banked it. I taught him how to not care. How to go away in your mind without letting them catch on. Even the powerless have power if they know how to find it. I taught him how to become something they craved, instead of something they found contemptible. I taught him to always make them ask. _Always_. Never be the one to initiate anything because your own desires are a weakness. If they see you as equal, you've given your power away. If you make them abase themselves before you, you retain your dignity. It's _all _about power. It's about making them think they really do want you, that they need you, that you're the best, and that in that moment they're fortunate to have your full attention."

Gertie nodded several times, as if she was going over a mental list and was satisfied. She sat back and shrugged. "He learned fast, and he learned well. It didn't take long before he'd become a bit of a sensation. Beautiful women became mesmerized by him. That confused him, poor sod. Aside from me, no girl had ever given him the time of day before, and we were hardly what one would call a romance. Now all of a sudden women were arguing over him. I taught him how not to fall into the traps. Showed him where the line was between carnal lust and genuine affection."

Hermione sat forward. "And where is it?"

Gertie smirked, an unpleasant expression that twisted her features into something ugly. "The line between reality and self delusion depends on the individual. With Severus, it was obvious. He was hopelessly ugly back then. There was no getting around that fact. I told him no one would ever really want to kiss him unless they were drunk or they _actually_ cared for him. I made it a rule for him to _never_ kiss them first. Ever. That would be the only way he'd know. Especially if they were sober."

Hermione's eyes widened, and her thoughts began to race, even as Gertie's voice continued. "Eventually, he achieved enough status with his knowledge of Dark Arts that he was safe from unwanted advances. It didn't take that long; he was very good at dark magic. I know he never took part in any other initiations. However, I think he still toyed with the older Death Eaters when he was of a mood. He could set them against each other at will and often did so. That was back before the Dark Lord died the first time. After that, he kept to himself."

She waved a hand down the front of her robes. "That was also when he developed his fascination with buttons and the end of playtime with old Gertie. Getting Snape out of his clothes was harder for me than sneaking into Gringotts. I don't think he even _liked_ sex anymore unless there was something in it for him. Poor bloke." She shook her head sadly. "I don't think anyone ever did kiss him aside from me. I'm not sure he cared…"

Hermione's voice cracked when she said, "He did care! _I've_ kissed him. I _love_ kissing him!"

Gertie looked surprised at this. "Really? And he still said you were wasting your time?" She shook her head. "I guess I'm not surprised. I always knew his feelings for Lily Evans weren't healthy, and after reading what he went through for her… " Gertie shrugged. "I'm sorry. You seem like a lovely girl, and it would have been nice to think he'd finally found someone who liked him for himself."

Hermione stared at the floor, more confused by the man than she'd been before this conversation.

"Was there anything more you wanted to know?" Gertie asked. "My husband will be home soon, and I've yet to start on his supper."

Hermione shook her head, swiping at her tears with her sleeve. "No. I'll just get out of your way. I'm sorry that I upset you. I assure you, that wasn't my intent, although I've no idea why I thought it _wouldn't_ have upset you. I'm afraid I acted selfishly."

Gertie sighed. "I wouldn't have thought I was still so angry about it all. Maybe I _am_ upset Caleb is dead. Maybe I'm angry it wasn't me that did it." She waved a listless hand. "It was all so long ago. I'm sorry you had to see me like that." She stood and showed Hermione to the door. "If you do see Severus again, would you tell him I'm happy? I may not have wealth, but I've had a good man these last nine years. That makes up for a lot of lack. As for Caleb Lloyt, you were lucky. He was a bad egg. I tried to tell my sister the same years ago, but she wouldn't listen. She left her husband for that bastard, even got him a job, but he still managed to leech away her savings. He always needed more money than he had." She shook her head. "I wonder if she'll speak to me now that he's dead. Two weeks, you say? No. Probably not. No woman likes to admit they'd been a fool."

As Gertie opened the door, she paused. "I wonder if anyone told his brother."

Hermione shrugged. "I'm sure they would have. From what I understand, his family is very insular."

"Not those bastards," Gertie said with a dismissive snort. "Ceredig. He was a squib, poor sod. The family packed him off to live with some Muggles in Aberdare and pretended he didn't exist. I met him once, lovely man, handsome as his brother, but kind as the day is long. He loved Caleb, a fact the bastard exploited whenever he was short of funds. I always thought that was a shabby way to treat your twin. Especially when he was handicapped like that. If he hadn't been a squib, I might have thrown Caleb over long before."

"_Twin?_" Hermione blurted, darting a surprised look through the door at Ron out in the stairwell.

"Indeed, although no one ever wanted to admit it. You just had to look at them to know the truth."

Hermione felt her stomach curdle with a sickening sense of foreboding. "I'll make sure he knows. We'll send someone to him today, in fact." She reached out her hand and laid it on Gertie's wrist. "If I could impose on you for one last thing, who is your sister? I'd like to speak with her as well. Would you mind?"

Gertie shrugged. "Don't see the point, but I can't see the harm either. You'll find her working at the Ministry. I can't remember what department. Accounting, I think. Her name's Mary. Mary Worple, if she still uses her married name. Elgen if she's not."

Hermione spun around toward Ron and saw the same shock reflected on his face that she was feeling. Stuttering her thanks and farewell, she turned and raced down the stairs with Ron hard on her heels.

:

* * *

><p>:<p>

Aw, come on! You _KNEW_ there was a twin! It's a B Movie! There's always a twin!

*runs off cackling*


	29. Chapter 29

**AN:** Some of you will notice that as we race toward our climax the chapters are getting longer. In fact, this one is twice the size of average. I know what you're thinking, 'Shoddy work, Aurette. Constancy is key.' I do apologize. I really didn't intend to force you to read twice as much tale as you were used to, but there are certain places where you just _can't_ break the flow. So to make it up to you, I made nearly every chapter from here on in a cliffhanger.

*nods*

I just want you to be happy...

* * *

><p>"<em>How did we not know!<em>" bellowed Kingsley from behind his desk. Hermione sank her teeth into her lip as the blood rushed up into Harry's face. Behind him, Ron and Quint didn't look any better. Other than the five of them, the office was empty.

"I take full responsibility, sir," Harry replied.

"The hell you will! Keitch is the Head Auror. It's his fault!"

Ron cleared his throat. "Sir, I don't think Keitch intended—"

His words were cut off as the Minister for Magic slammed his hand down on his desk. "He didn't intend to _sleep_ with her? Is that what you're going to say? He compromised the investigation from the _start!_ It's misconduct! He's _finished!_"

Hermione cleared her throat and shifted forward in her chair. "Kingsley, be fair. Mr. Keitch had no way of knowing the woman he'd been dating for the last year was a spy. He only knew Mary Elgen. He had no idea she also went by Worple, nor would he have necessarily known she was the Head of the Department of Mysteries. And, there was no way he would have any idea that she was Caleb Lloyt's accomplice. _We_ didn't know."

Kingsley turned an angry eye on her. "And why _didn't_ we? You just said you hadn't trusted her from the start! Why the hell was she still on the committee if you didn't want her there?"

Harry cleared his throat. "With all due respect, sir. We trusted her because _you _trusted her. She was the only person you personally chose for the team."

Shacklebolt slumped back in his chair, deflated by that last. "Oh, bloody hell," he said with a sigh. "So I've betrayed you as well." He lifted his head and gave Hermione a sad shake of his head. "I'm very sorry, Hermione."

Hermione gave him a weak smile and a shrug. "It happens. Rather often, actually."

Kingsley let forth with a broken chuckle and turned to Harry, waving his hand imperiously. "Oh, do sit down, the three of you." Folding his hands on his stomach he said, "So what do we know?"

"We know there's a good chance Ceredig Lloyd is dead and Caleb Lloyt isn't," Harry replied.

"Proof?"

"Ceredig Lloyd went missing on May 30th, two days before we found a body. He told his employer and his wife that he was heading to Spain for a meeting and hasn't been heard from him since. His wife's baby was due in a week when he left, and he'd promised he'd be home in plenty of time for the birth."

"What do we know about him?"

"His father changed the spelling of his last name to hide the family shame. He was shuffled off to a distant relation at five years of age when it became apparent he was a squib. No one ever spoke of him again. His wife didn't know there was any other family, just a twin that she met once or twice that she didn't think much of. He was a hard worker, a good husband, liked to tinker with motorbikes."

"And since he was a twin…" Shacklebolt said with a wave of his hand.

"And since he was a twin, we'd get the same DNA match. The only way to positively identify him would have been through fingerprints and scars."

"Which would all be destroyed by fire."

"Yes, sir. I suspect that if Quint had thought to look, he would have found that there was recent bone damage around that missing tooth. I think Lloyt knew he was going to have to disappear for good, and his brother was nothing more than a convenient means of doing just that."

Kingsley nodded and turned toward Hermione. "Let's assume our suspect is alive and has been fed intimate knowledge of the investigation from the start. What does he know?"

"He knows about the Crystal of Time," Hermione replied. "And that there will be a lot of chronominium when all this is over."

"He knows about the prophecy," added Harry.

"He knows that Ts'ao Daiyu gave Hermione an artifact," Quint put in.

"I think it's safe to assume he knows a lot more than we'd like, and maybe more than we're aware of," Hermione said in summation. "Who knows what information he had access to in the Department of Mysteries? Worple could have given him everything he needed to know and told us there was nothing. I think it's best to concentrate on what he _doesn't_ know. He knows nothing about the tablets, nor that I've translated them. That last part is a crucial piece of the puzzle and there's no way he has it."

"And when do we hear what the translation is?"

She grimaced. "You won't. I won't tell anyone what it says until they need to know."

Kingsley nodded several times, lost in thought. Just then there was a chiming tone of a ward being tripped. He pulled his wand out of his pocket and flicked it at the side door. "Come," he called.

The door opened and his receptionist stuck his head through. "Minister, we're having difficulty locating the person you asked for. It seems she's already left for the day but not yet at her home. In fact, apparently most of that department is already gone."

They all looked at the clock and saw it was half-past six. Shacklebolt blew out a deep breath. "Thank you, Timmons. That will be all for now. If you could stay a little longer, I would appreciate it."

"Of course, Minister."

When the door closed, Kingsley threw his wards back up. "Alright, this is what we're going to do. We don't know where Worple is, but, unless she's been tipped off, we know where she's going to be. Find a way to get her isolated. Trap her in a room in Grimmauld if you have to, but do _not_ try and question her until you hear from me. I think we've all had enough of having the people that know anything useful cocking their toes up." He pushed back from the desk and they all stood. "As for me, I need to track down a quorum of Unspeakables to strip Worple of her vows _in absentia_. I'll send word as soon as that's done. _Then _you can question her. I want to know everything she knows, right down to what she's had for breakfast for the last five years. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied.

:

"So how do we handle this?" Hermione asked as she rubbed her hands in circles on the kitchen table. Harry and Quint sat across from her and Ron was pacing behind. "Do we grab her as soon as she arrives?"

"Definitely," said Quint, looking like he was ready to go grab her now. "Playing coy with your fake notes was a crap idea."

Ron scowled and shook his head. "I don't think that's wise. We really have no idea what her capabilities are. The fact that she's an Unspeakable gives me the willies." He sat down next to Hermione and leaned his elbows on the table. "We already had a plan in motion to deal with her. Let's stick with it. Lure her into Hermione's room and trap her there. We can ward it so it's not too difficult to get in, but impossible to get out."

"Perhaps I should tell her I want to speak with her," Hermione said.

Harry grunted disapproval. "You haven't spoken to her in all this time. I think that would put her on her guard. Let's just play it casual. We have the meeting and maybe a small celebration now that we've reached the end. Let her think we're all complacent and bloated with hubris. It will give her plenty of time to wander through the house on her own."

"What if she doesn't take the bait?" Quint asked.

"I'll block the Floo and all the exits after the last person arrives. If she doesn't seem to be falling for it, then we go with plan B."

"What's plan B?"

"Knock her out and tie her up."

"Subtle," Ron said, pushing up from the table.

"Works for me," Quint replied.

It was an hour later when the wards chimed, announcing the first arrival. The four of them stared at each other, wordlessly assessing their readiness. "Time to get the show started," Harry said, pushing back from the table.

"I'll put on the tea," Ron said as he stood up.

Hermione stood as well. "Quint, help me grab the extra chairs."

"I'll go play host," said Harry.

"Don't forget to head off Philips," she called quietly.

Harry nodded and headed up the stairs. As they set up for the meeting, Bill, Ginny, George and Arthur came into the kitchen with their arms full of food. "We're meeting down here, then?" Arthur asked as he set one of Molly's cakes down on the table.

"It's closer to the wine," Ron replied with a smile.

:

Hermione waited until Harry slipped into the room before she picked up her notes. Everyone was here. Neville was seated next to Quint, the two of them exchanging memories about Professor Sprout, since Neville had been hired as the new Herbology Professor. Harry sat down and threw his arm along the back of Ginny's chair, watching her with a small smile as she reprimanded Ron and George on their manners. They'd mostly destroyed the cake their mother had made. Bill was looking at the younger folks as if they were still children, occasionally shaking his head and sending Hermione humorous looks. Arthur was chatting with Philips and Worple, and Snape…

Snape was just staring at her. He had been since he'd swept into the kitchen. His eyes had landed on her immediately, and he'd yet to look away. Taking the seat directly across from her, he'd sat back and folded his arms across his chest. She wondered if everyone else could feel the tension radiating off of him.

It was awkward in the extreme. They hadn't seen or spoken to each other since they'd returned to Grimmauld from Greece. She was mature enough to admit that her need for absolute focus hadn't been the only reason. She'd been stung by his tacit rejection in the cave and was not above a small amount of pettiness. Her mind was still in turmoil—to be truthful, it was more like agony—over what she'd learned about his past that afternoon. It was too much. Too personal. It would've been one thing if he'd shared it, but he hadn't. Instead, she'd pried it out of another victim, forcing the woman to dredge up her terrible past for no better reason than Hermione's own curiosity. The shame kept her from making eye contact.

She tapped the edge of her parchment on the table and waited as they finished what they were saying and gave her their attention. Her eyes darted to Snape and found him still staring at her, his black eyes crackling with a mixture of anger and resentment. She looked away quickly.

"I'm going to keep this meeting relatively short. You've all been a great help to me over the last few weeks, and I thought it my duty to keep you as up to date on events as possible. We all know what we're dealing with here, nothing less than the possible end of existence. We all know that although I am central to this issue, I am, in fact, destined to fail and someone else is intended to save us." She shook her head; that simple truth was crushing when said aloud.

"I've completed my research," she said, looking around the table. Everyone sat forward, truly alert for the first time since they'd arrived. All accept Snape. His only reaction was to go still. "I know what's going to happen, and I know what must be done." Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly. "This time next week, it will be over, one way or another. The only thing left is to figure out exactly where the event will take place, and if I'm correct, Philips' committee is expecting to have that answer in a matter of days."

She looked over to him, and he nodded. "Our current figures lead us to believe we will pinpoint the exact location of the event within the next three days," he said. Bill and George nodded agreement. They'd spent all their time riding the ley lines and gathering data. Neville and Ginny had also been on João Krieger's secret team of field agents and so this wasn't news to them either. Only Snape and Worple showed extra interest.

"I've given it a good deal of thought," Hermione continued, "and I've decided to only take a small team with me. I'd like to take an army, but the more people involved, the wider the window for unforeseen variables. I also contemplated going alone, but that's patently stupid. Therefore, I've decided to only bring those people who have, to one degree or another, already fulfilled the prophecy's prediction of betrayal. Harry, Ron, Ginny and Quint will be accompanying me." Her peripheral vision told her that Snape didn't take this well. His eyes went wide before his brows snapped down in a thunderous expression. She kept her focus on her notes and continued as if she hadn't noticed. "The rest of you are welcome to make yourself available to Mr. Philips in helping to pinpoint the event. Other than that, your commitment to the project and to me is over. I deeply appreciate the time and energy you've put in. I'm sure the entire world would appreciate it, if any of them had a clue." She blew out a breath and gestured at the small buffet set up. "In lieu of a world's gratitude, we have food. I promise that neither Harry, Ron, nor I cooked any of it."

She placed her notes on the table and incinerated them with a murmured spell before she folded her hands, letting her words sink in.

"What are you going to do with the rest of your research?" Quint asked. He gestured at the small pile of ash in front of her. "Seems a shame to destroy it after everything we've been through."

He achieved the perfect pitch of interest, and she had to bend her proud smile into a rueful grimace. "I know. I've reams of notes upstairs in my office, and I can't help but think it would be nice to save the next pawn some effort. However, it's far too dangerous."

"Perhaps we could store it in our department," said Worple in a helpful tone, her demeanor as welcoming and aloof as always. Even knowing the familial connection, there was no resemblance between this woman and the faded Gertie. Mary Worple was ten years older than her younger sister, but if Gertie had looked older than she was, her sister was the opposite. Hermione thought that without all the cosmetics, she might have even looked to be in her mid-forties. However, the excessive make-up, and the overly alluring wardrobe gave that youthfulness a tragic edge. She wondered what another ten years of trying to make Caleb Lloyt love her would do to the woman.

"We do have a library for just such a purpose," the woman said with a small, ironic twist of her lips.

Hermione gave her a nod and a smile. "I'd thought of that. It really makes good sense," wrinkling her nose, she added, "but not the best sense. The next event might not happen for a thousand years, and we have no way of predicting the state of things then. As much as it pains me to admit, the difficulties I went through balance the harm that would have been caused had those we're up against had a better understanding of what they were dealing with. I have to agree with the reasoning behind censoring the information." She shrugged. "I hate the idea of destroying _any _notes," Harry and Ron chuckled loudly at that, "but I think after the party's over tonight, I'll have to do just that."

Worple nodded, nothing in her manner giving away the slightest thought. "That's probably wise."

Hermione allowed herself a small wince. "I hope so. I admit that the decision wasn't an easy one. There really is a lot of information now that I've translated everything I tracked down."

Arthur sat forward and asked, "Have you any idea what you're dealing with when the crystal appears?"

She nodded. "I've an excellent understanding of what I'm facing. I've found some ancient texts that basically laid it all out with little ambiguity."

"Oh, that's very helpful indeed," he said.

She smiled and nodded. "After all the confusion and obtuseness we've been facing from the start, knowing how it's all supposed to end is a bit of a relief. Not a huge one, mind, but a relief nonetheless. It's not going to be easy, there are a few more obstacles to overcome."

"Like what?" Neville asked.

"Like a complete lack of magic," she replied. "My research has shown that as the event unfolds, there will be a dead zone around the nexus. If I'm calculating ancient measurements correctly, it will be approximately thirty miles in diameter at its peak. That means we could have a long walk on our hands. I think we can pretty much count on the crystal appearing in a remote and difficult to access location. There is an element of trial implicated that points to a certain amount of awareness or intelligence being involved. You can have fun speculating about _that_; I've got other things to do."

"Fascinating," Arthur whispered. "Does it explain why the merfolk went after you?"

Hermione grimaced and looked to Ron, who flushed. "More or less. There is an element of—it's hard to explain without sounding daft—there's a negativity at work. It affects those that are prone. The scroll Farzeen and I found called it _achistem manah, _which is apt. It means being motivated by destructive or malign thoughts. This negativity brings out the worst in people, and apparently the merpeople are susceptible. Most magical creatures would be. I wouldn't have liked our chances had the box been hidden in the Forbidden Forest."

"Is there a corresponding good?" Arthur asked.

She looked at him and smiled. "Of course."

"Wonderful," he said with delight.

She smiled even more at his enthusiasm. Arthur was nothing if not curious. An unexpected pang of sadness hit her and she found herself struggling for composure. Arthur, Molly, Ginny… all of the Weasleys had become family to her. All of them were almost _excited_ about throwing themselves into danger for her. She doubted she'd ever shown them what they all meant to her. She couldn't bring herself to do so now. It would only set them off. Not one of them was stupid. If she started babbling her appreciation, they would know that she wasn't coming back…

She looked away and found herself staring into Severus's sad, understanding eyes. She nearly cringed as he gave her a small, almost timid smile that was painful to see and pushed back from the table.

"Again, thank you all for everything. Enjoy the food and ale, there's even some stronger stuff if you need it. George's wine is quite good, but it looks like Molly's cake didn't make it to the end. Now, if you'll excuse me, I drank too much tea." She hurried out of the kitchen and up to the bathroom, where she could get in a bit of a cry.

It was silly really. It was far too late in the game to wallow in the unfairness of it all. She'd known life was unfair since she was a child. Frowning at herself in the mirror, she realized that was actually a part of it. Her childhood had been one, long, headlong rush to escape death in one form or another, and she'd always accepted the fact that at any point, she might take that one misstep that would cost her to pay the ultimate price.

But then they'd won. Harry had defeated Voldemort and saved the Wizarding world, and most likely the Muggle world as well. After that, she'd been free to go her own way. Free to make of her life what she chose. She'd really thought she was starting to get somewhere with that unforeseen promotion.

And it had all been a lie.

Somewhere down in the bowels of the Ministry, another prophecy had been hiding, waiting to take control of her life. Waiting to take her choices away.

It wasn't fair. She'd _done_ her part for the good of humanity.

She shook her head and swiped at her eyes.

So what?

Snape had done his part as well. He wasn't living happily ever after. He carried the scars on his psyche with him everywhere he went. Granted, it took someone getting close to him to see, but when you did, they were screamingly obvious.

She scrunched her face up and leaned down to splash cold water on it. There was no percentage in thinking about Snape. With everything that she'd learned that afternoon, she was wedged tight between believing he really did care, and knowing it had all been a lie. She was sure he cared for her on some level, as much as he was capable. Nevertheless, Hermione was also sure that the life he'd led, the choices he'd made, and the choices that had been made for him, left him far too broken for any more than that.

She straightened up and dried her face. _Enough_, she thought. _Be done with this_.

Sucking in a deep breath, she blew it out before she turned and left the bathroom. Raucous laughter floated up to her from the kitchen downstairs. From the sounds of things, George was trying to shield his last two bottles of Spanish wine and was losing.

Making her way to the library, she pushed the door open. Urban Philips turned to her with an expectant look, and she nodded to him as she closed the door with a quiet click and locked it with a ward. She added a Silencing Charm as well.

"Mr. Potter said you wished to meet me here after the meeting," he said. "I take it you don't feel the secrecy here is secure anymore?"

"I don't, but we hope to have that solved by the end of the night. Tell me what you've got."

He gestured to the couch, and when she was seated, he sat in the chair across from her, leaning forward and lowering his voice. "The nexus is sliding westward across the continent in almost a straight line." He shook his head. "None of us understand it. Backtracking the burps seemed to point toward a _definitive_ location in Sweden for days, and then, just as we thought we had it nailed down, it started to slide west."

Hermione nodded. "I would have been surprised as well, but not after reading the translation. When did it start to move?"

He shook his head. "I can't say for sure, if we'd narrowed it down closer, we might have noticed sooner. The fact that we were still guessing at an area of about two hundred miles in diameter means it could have started moving before we caught on. I would guess it started less than two days ago, but I'm uncomfortable with the margin of error."

Again she nodded, staring at the books on the wall. "Is it gaining speed?"

He seemed surprised at her question. "Yes. Definitely."

"Where is it now?"

"Russia. It's approaching the Muggle city of Sovetsky." He leaned forward even more. "Granger, it's not following a ley line…" He shook his head. "This makes no sense."

She wrinkled her nose. "It's making a new one," she said. "Like a spider lays silk. You'll be able to see it once it's stopped interfering with our measurements. I suspect all of our ley lines are the remnants of past events of some sort of another."

His eyes went wide, and he sat back. "Remarkable," he said softly.

"You want to know something else intriguing? Expect a rise in Muggleborns along the new line over the next twenty years."

He nodded, taking that fact in with the same marvel. "This is truly wonderful," he whispered. "It's like we're witnessing the birth of magic."

She winced. "Or the end of it," she reminded him gently.

He jerked his gaze toward her and grimaced. "That, as well. I'm sorry. Tact has never been my strong suit."

She laughed. "Don't worry. I think I've always been a bit socially inept myself. Like tends toward like."

He gave a polite chuckle that sounded unnatural for him. "In more mundane news, I've written you up three times now. You should expect to be terminated in a few more days."

She nodded. "I've been an awful employee, skiving off work like I have."

He frowned. "Are you _sure_ you want to play it like this? It will look terrible on your CV when all of this is over and you need new work. You're welcome to use me as a reference, but then that might look even more strange."

She tried to laugh, but it twisted in her throat and came out sounding like a small animal being strangled. His eyes widened in alarm, and then narrowed in understanding. He frowned in alarm. "Miss Granger…"

She looked away.

He reached forward and laid a hand on her knee. "You mustn't think this way. It only said you'd fail. It said nothing about—"

She shook her head. "No. But the translation was pretty clear. I won't be needing references in the future."

He pulled his hand away, leaning back as if to avoid her truth. "Good lord… How can you be so calm?"

She shrugged. "What else can I do?"

He was rescued from having to answer by the sound of someone passing by the door.

"We're almost out of time, and I've one other thing to tell you," she said, reaching into her pocket. She pulled out a Galleon and handed it to him. "This will allow you to contact me at any time. As soon as the nexus stops moving, I need to know. By noon tomorrow, I'll be ready to go on a moment's notice. I also want you to start allowing everyone else in on the latest findings. Everyone. Chilikov, Charbono, everyone on the committee. I want you to give me and them, the exact coordinates of the nexus when it stops."

"_Everyone_? What on earth for? Won't that make things even more dangerous?"

"On the contrary. I'm hoping it will make things easier. Four hours after the nexus stops, it will disappear. No one else will know that. While they're all out searching for it, I'll be heading to where it will actually be."

"May I ask where?"

She snorted. "You can do more than that; I'll need you to tell me. The nexus will drive itself through the core of the planet and appear on the other side in its crystallized form. When you get the coordinates, I need you to secretly calculate the exact opposite position on the globe and use that coin to send me the corrected coordinates. Immediately. Do you understand?"

He nodded solemnly.

"Good. Now let me show you how to use the coin…"

A few minutes later, after they had successfully sent several messages back and forth, the air around Hermione's head began to chime a quiet alarm. Philips looked up in confusion and turned toward the door of the library, recognizing the sound of a breached ward.

Hermione stuffed her coin into her pocket and grabbed her wand, jumping up from her seat. "I think we've caught our rat," she said as she dropped the wards on the door. She could already hear the sound of Harry and Ron's feet stomping up the stairs. She turned and looked at Philips. "I'm counting on you. Tell no one what I've told you."

He stood and gave her a shaky nod. "Upon my honor, Miss Granger. Good luck."

She gave him a bittersweet smile before she threw open the door and joined Harry, Ron and Quint in their mad dash for her rooms.

When they neared the top floor, there was a silent scramble for who would take the lead. Hermione threw her weight behind her elbow as she shoved Quint out of the way and flung open the door to her temporary office.

Sitting at her desk, swirling a glass of fire whiskey in one hand, Severus Snape raised an eyebrow and looked up at her with a bemused expression.

:

* * *

><p>:<p>

Oh, the jangling note of discord... You heard it.


	30. Chapter 30

**AN**: Fasten all seat belts and take note of the emergency exits.

* * *

><p>"I was hoping to speak with you alone, but I see you're busy," Snape said, rising smoothly to his feet.<p>

"Shit," said Harry behind her.

"Plan B," Ron said, already turning and heading back toward the stairs.

Quint loitered for a moment, but she waved him away. She closed the door behind her, muting the sound of them all thundering back down the stairs. With several jabs of her wand, she cancelled the wards on the room.

Snape set his drink down on top of the slate box on her desk, giving her a significant stare. She blushed. She knew he'd seen her return the real one to the squid that morning. He'd probably surmised that all of the papers in the room were fraudulent as well.

Tilting his head, he gave her an inquiring look. "Have I interfered with something?"

She waved her hand in the air again, pushing his question aside. "What are you doing in here?"

He sat back down slowly. "As I said, I was hoping for a chance to talk. I thought waiting in your bedroom was a bit… _presumptuous_… given the circumstances." Stretching his legs out in front of him, he shoved his hands into the side pockets of his robes. His relaxed demeanor belied the tone of authoritarian displeasure in his voice. "I've _been_ waiting to talk to you for over a week. Had I known you were hiding here, I would have come sooner. You blocked my access to your Floo and sent _Weasley_ to pick up your research from my rooms. I didn't appreciate that at all, by the way. You have no rights to assign privileges over my privacy. "

She walked over to another table and pulled out the stool to sit on. Taking a deep breath, she took a moment for calm before looking at him. "I didn't block your access to my Floo. I don't actually _have_ a Floo anymore. My home was destroyed while we were in Greece."

His eyes widened, and he pulled his hands out of his pockets and sat up. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why should I have? What could you have done?"

He scowled at her. "You could have stayed at Hogwarts. You know you would have been safe there."

"I'm as safe here as anywhere."

"I would have _helped_ you," he said in a tight voice.

"I know, and I respect that, but I already knew more about ancient languages than you, and so your input in this regard would have been limited."

He narrowed his eyes at her, staring at her for a long moment. She focused her gaze on his nose. "You don't trust me," he said in a quiet voice. "After everything, you still don't trust me."

She shrugged. "You mustn't take it too personally. I don't trust anyone but Harry and Ron, really. I can't afford to."

He sneered at her. "And yet you'd crawl into my bed without hesitation," he spat.

She scowled at him, folding her arms under her breasts. "Are you _really_ going to play the jilted lover here? I find that a bit of a stretch. Correct me if I'm wrong, but haven't you been repeatedly telling me that even imagining anything more between us was a waste of my time?"

His eyes went bright with sudden anger. "That's what you _asked_ for!" he hissed, bolting to his feet. "To not _care!_"

She threw up her hands, rising up off of the stool. "I know. Yes," she said in a calming tone. She stopped herself from touching him. "That _is _what I asked for. You were exactly what I needed at a time when I was nothing but an open wound." She dropped her hands. "But you broke your end of the bargain without even meaning to."

The anger in his eyes guttered out, replaced with confusion.

"I didn't want to _care_…" She gave a halfhearted snort. "Severus, couldn't you see to what extent that part went out the window?" She shook her head. "I probably started to care _before_ I even spent the night in your bed. Afterward? I cared _too much_." With a heavy sigh she folded her arms across her chest. "I know. I was stupid. I screwed up the whole concept of 'meaningless sex.' You'll have to forgive me. It was my first attempt." She scrubbed her hands through her hair and turned away. "It doesn't matter anymore. I have too much to deal with as it is. My plate is too full for this nonsense. We're into the final countdown and anything else is just going to add to the stress." She heaved a worn-out sigh. "The stress is already too much."

She felt the warmth from his body as he stepped up behind her and shivered as he swept her hair away from her nape. "It doesn't have to be this way… There are pleasant ways to relieve stress," he said in a low voice, stroking a finger along her neck. "I could still help. You need only ask…" He hooked his finger under the chain around her neck and slowly dragged the locket up from between her breasts suggestively. She swallowed with difficulty. She would have been in trouble had he not used that one word…

_Ask_.

As the heart-shaped locket popped out from under the neckline of her robes, she reached up and closed her hand around it, tugging it away from his fingers. She twisted away, looking at him with sadness. His brows twitched in mild confusion.

"No," she said. "Thank you, but no." Stepping back away from him, she said, "I can't help but care anymore, and I don't want to just be serviced like the others. It's not what I want." She shook her head. "I know I can't have what I want, and I refuse to snivel about it. I have a world to save. You taught me that."

His face clouded, his expression leaping from confusion, to irritation, and then to uncertainty. She saw the moment when an understanding struck. His eyes went wide for just a fraction of a moment before his entire body froze and all the blood drained out of his face. "What did you mean by that?" he said in a chillingly soft voice.

She sighed. Why were her feelings so repulsive to him? "I only meant that I've too much on my plate to spend any more time worrying about why you don't want me." She couldn't help but let a small amount of her hurt feelings slip into her voice. "It's utterly trivial in the face of everything."

He strode forward and grabbed her by her upper arms. "Not _that._ The other bit. Why did you say it like _that?_ What did you mean _like the others?_"

She blinked, trying to remember exactly what she'd said and then it hit her. Oh, _shit._ She closed her eyes against the telltale flush of her cheeks, the guilty burn that had ever been her downfall when she'd been caught in the wrong.

His hands tightened on her arms, and he shook her, snapping her head back. "_What do you know?_" he growled.

She looked into his eyes, terrified by the white-hot fury she found there. "I know you're hurting me," she said as calmly as she could.

He snatched his hands back as if burned and grabbed at his robes, folding them across his chest. He stared at her, plainly enraged, but she could see hints of hurt and betrayal and an old, but still raw, pain. That pain demanded an answer, although she wanted to bite through her tongue rather than speak. She dropped her gaze to the floor and tried to censor the truth. "Mary Worple is Gertrude Sorin's sister."

"Who the fuck is Gertrude Sorin?"

Hermione grimaced. "Before she married, she went by Gertie Elgen."

As if he'd been punched, he bent slightly as his eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open. "_You found Gertie?_" he whispered.

His expression broke and then contorted into a spasm of rage. "You little _bitch!_ You went _looking_ for her, didn't you? You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you? Christ! You always did stick your fucking nose in where it wasn't wanted. Who the hell do you think you are? Are you proud of yourself now, you fucking little _know-it-all?_ Does your knowledge make you feel _superior _to me now?"

"No!" Her composure splintered, and she began to cry. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, knowing it sounded pathetic. "I met her this morning. She started blurting things out! I couldn't make her stop! I'm… so sorry!"

"You _lie!_ You _did_ want to know! It must have made you nearly mad with curiosity. As if you didn't have enough mysteries to solve. Ever the overachiever, that's our Miss Granger!" His face grew even more terrifying as his voice dropped down to an arctic hiss. "Do they _all_ know? _Who did you tell?_"

"No one! I would never tell anyone!"

"I don't believe you…" he hissed. "_Don't_ think you can hide the truth from me." In an eye blink, his wand was in her face.

She twisted her head to the side, shutting her eyes against his impending invasion. "If you do this," she whispered, "I _will_ fight you." She let those words hang in the air for a moment. "You could end the world."

She could feel his anger pulsing in the air, pushing against her. When his voice came again, it was a soft rasp. "No one else knew my humiliation. I made sure of that. I Obliviated them all even before the Dark Lord fell the first time. It wasn't enough, was it? I left Gertie alone because I stupidly believed she _understood_. How fucking _pathetic_ was that?"

"Severus, I would never tell anyone else. Not even in anger. You _know_ that. You know I don't—"

"_Shut up!_" he barked. She opened her eyes and turned to see the wand tip trembling in front of her. Watched, as he slowly lowered it. He stared at her for what seemed like a small eternity, his face an open wound, before he hissed, "You had no _right!_ I trusted you..."

She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, licking at the tears streaming down her face. "If it brings you comfort," she said in misery, "I won't know for long."

His eyes went wide at that, and he blinked several times, he even raised his hands toward her, his face twisting with concern, but he snatched them back. Scrubbing his hands through his hair, he stared around the room, dazed. "What the hell have you _done_ to me?" he rasped in a broken voice. "Who the hell _are _you that you've done this to me?"

She had no answer to that. She just shook her head back and forth. "I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you." She pressed her hand over her mouth. "I hate that I hurt you," she moaned through her fingers.

He turned at that, staring at her, not in anger or hate, but with open confusion. The silence between them widened until she could only hear the whistling of his labored breathing through his nose, and her occasional hiccupping sobs.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs ended their standoff. He twisted away from her and stormed across the room, throwing the door back on its hinges. Quint was standing just outside, hand poised to knock. Snape didn't break his stride as he planted his hands on the younger man's chest and slammed him into the wall behind.

"Let him go!" Hermione barked, as Quint came up clutching his wand. Snape was already halfway down the stairs, his black robes streaming out behind him.

Quint shook himself like a dog. "I _hate_ when people get the jump on me," he spat.

She walked over and put her hand on his arm. "It was my fault. I angered him. Let it go. Have we heard from Shacklebolt? Has Worple admitted to anything yet?"

Quint grimaced and shook his head. "That's what I was coming to tell you. She got away. I knew being clever was a mistake. While we were running up here after Snape, she tried to leave. George saw the Floo was blocked and helpfully opened it for her."

"Oh, God _damn_ it!" The frustration was too much, and a fresh wave of tears broke over her.

"Easy, now." Quint pulled her into a hug. "Don't worry, Harry and the others are on her heels. I threw a trace on her during the meeting."

Hermione blew out a relieved breath and dropped her face onto his shoulder, blotting her eyes on his robes. "Thank god. That was good thinking."

Quint patted her shoulder. "I'm also thinking since George got his betrayal out of the way, we could add him to the team."

She closed her eyes and sighed.

:

* * *

><p>:<p>

Hermione sat at the table drinking tea while Ginny stared at her with worry. She knew she looked terrible. She'd slept little the night before and had dark circles under her swollen eyes. Mary Worple had been caught in Dover around midnight. Harry, Ron and Kingsley had been at the MLE all night questioning her. Ginny had stayed the night to watch over her, and after a few pointed questions had gone unanswered, had wisely held her tongue.

Hermione had just finished her second cup when they heard the Floo activate. Both women jumped up and headed for the stairs. Ron, Harry, and Quint were waiting for them in the sitting room.

"Well?" Hermione demanded as soon as she saw them.

Harry grimaced and scrubbed at his hair, making it stand straight up. He held his hand out and hugged Ginny as she came over. "She got an owl off to Caleb Lloyt before we caught her. Keitch sent a team to the address, but it was just a drop point. We have people watching it, but I doubt he'll turn back up."

Hermione sank onto the couch and dropped her head into her hands. "I shouldn't have said anything about the dead zone at the meeting."

Ron dropped down next to her. "Nah. He would have figured that out on his own, wouldn't he? I mean the burps are little dead zones aren't they? I would have considered it a possibility. I don't think you gave anything away."

"He's right," Harry said, sitting down on the coffee table and wrapping his arm around Ginny's legs. He looked exhausted, as did Ron. Quint was the only one that looked like he'd slept. "It's not as bad as it looks. I don't think she got away with anything that they couldn't have put together on their own, and we came out better in the exchange. Veritaserum is pretty helpful stuff."

"Oh?"

Ron nodded, kicking his feet up on the table next to Harry and sinking back against the cushions. "We know Lloyt's alive. We know he killed his brother, as well as your three field agents. Both Worple and he are responsible for the deaths of all the former Unspeakables in the Time Chamber. He's been working with the Chinese syndicate since they trashed his place, promising them repeatedly that what was coming was an artifact that would grant unlimited wealth. The syndicate followed Osterhoudt here and became suspicious of Lloyt when they found out he'd once worked with time but _wasn't_ part of the project. They were responsible for Myanmar. Not just the explosion, but Alonso Bahari's death as well. One of the syndicate was in Madam Zhou's entourage and overheard the questions Bahari was asking. They shut him up as quickly as they could, and then decided to take out as much competition as possible. They were responsible for Viktor's mindwipe as well. Worple intervened, saying killing him might blow everything if you were too upset to go on. It seems Ts'ao Daiyu was right. They need you alive to lead them to the crystal. Worple also cleared Osterhoudt. She sent him the notes, hoping it would implicate Philips, as soon as she realized they were charmed. Osterhoudt has been innocent the whole time."

"So he wasn't Grindenwald's boyfriend?"

"Oh, he was, but that's just bad taste in men, if you ask me." Ron shrugged. "He was young. Other than that, he's exactly what he presented himself as. An elderly scholar who only ever wanted to help, and a convenient magnet for suspicion."

"Well, hell," Hermione muttered. "Can you bring him here? It's probably too late for him to be much help, but it couldn't hurt to finally talk to someone that knows something about time aside from how to cast a Tempus Charm."

Quint nodded. "I'll fetch him. It's the least I can do after grilling him the way I did."

Harry leaned his head against Ginny's hip, looking like he was close to his end. "What else do we need to do?"

Hermione smiled at him. "First? You both head to bed and get some sleep. Later, we'll all have to go buy some camping gear. It's going to be cold where we're going and magic won't work. We'll need to go Muggle for the duration. Can any of you ride a motorcycle? I doubt we can get there by car."

They looked around at each other with blank expressions.

"What about a bicycle?" she asked.

"I can," said Harry. The others shook their head.

"Right. Then we'll need comfortable shoes," she said with a sigh.

"How much sleep do we get?" asked Ron, already shutting his eyes.

Hermione patted his thigh. "As much as you can. This might be the last decent rest we get. If I'm right, the nexus could stop as early as tomorrow morning. We need to be ready to move at any point after midnight tonight, just to be safe."

:

Hermione looked up at the knock, snapping her locket closed and dropping it back down the front of her robes. Quint stepped aside and behind him stood Abel Osterhoudt, leaning heavily on his cane and smiling at her with a beatific grin.

"Miss Granger! It is such a delight to see you again!"

She stepped away from the mantle and gestured him to the best seat in the library, the squashy chair that she'd practically lived in as a teen. "Please, have a seat. Can I get you some tea?"

"I would love some."

"I'll get it," Quint said, closing the door behind him.

Hermione sat down on the end of the couch closest to the older wizard. "Mr. Osterhoudt, please accept my apologies for—"

"You have nothing to apologize for. That young Mr. Urquhart told me a little of what has been going on. You did the right thing. Alonso would have been proud."

Hermione smiled, feeling her emotions trying to slip out of her control. Her tears were never far since her betrayal of Snape. "Thank you," she said. "That means a lot."

The old man folded his hands in his lap and said, "Now, how can I be of help?"

"Well, I need you to tell me everything you can about chronominium, first of all."

He smiled, and again the smile seems to fill up his entire body. "Sooo… It _is_ that sort of event." He nodded several times. "Sadly, I've already told you everything I know about where it comes from. Where the sands come from has been lost to time. The biggest clue I've ever seen was in the notes that were sent to me. This Crystal of Time."

Hermione grimaced. "That's the event. This crystal is in the process of being… birthed is the best term I can think of. Chronominium is the shattered remnants of the crystal."

He nodded again. "I'd guessed as much. This is both a wonderful, and a terrifying thing."

"Why terrifying?"

He looked surprised at her question. "You've used time turners. You have seen how handy two hours can be, yes? Imagine having the raw material, with no mechanism for control? The implications are staggering. No mortal should have that much control over time. That's an almost god-like power that should be denied us."

"I'm surprised to hear you say that, having studied time for so long."

"You shouldn't be. I loved to study it, yes, but I respected it as well. Time is such a delicate thing. It is partly a construct of our minds, and partly the linchpin of existence. It can be bent by perception, sped up, slowed down, and yet, as far as we know, it can never be stopped. Imagine that concept, Miss Granger. It defies logic. If you take a ball and roll it forward and then roll it backward, at some point, just at the turning from one to the other, the ball is still. Measuring how long that ball is actually still can be a nice exercise in mathematics and philosophy. But time is different. You can use chronominium to run it forward, and then run it backward, but between those two directions, _it never stops_. Why is this? My theory is that there is never enough chronominium to stop all of time. If you have a large quantity, say this crystal perhaps, you can stop it here or there, but it would take a crystal the size of our solar system to stop the universe for even the briefest of moments. I believe time fights back. I think it is destined to stop only once. At the end of all things."

Hermione tilted her head to the side. "But there were things in the Time Room. I remember seeing—"

"Experiments where things seemed frozen in time?"

"Yes."

He smirked. "Perception. Time hadn't stopped; some things stopped being effected by time. They also ceased to have any use or function. If left too long, they ceased to exist completely. Reality rejects being tampered with too much." He looked up when Quint came in with a tray. "I would love to talk about these things all day, but I will wait until another day. Then I will teach you everything I know before I retire for good. For now, you must have other questions."

Hermione grimaced, reaching for the tray. "Thank you, Quint."

She waited until the tea was poured and Quint had slipped away again. "Mr. Osterhoudt—"

"Please, call me Abel."

"Abel, then. As long as you call me Hermione."

"An honor."

She smiled. The man was so charming. She found herself angry that she had wasted so much time not trusting him. "Abel, I won't be coming back from this adventure I'm on. The most I can promise is that one of my companions will bring you the shattered remains of the Crystal so you can renew your studies."

He scowled at this. "I don't understand."

She sighed and sat back. "I've translated some ancient texts that point to my not having much time left myself. I'm what they refer to as the Searcher. The Searcher only ever leads the way. We never survive. One of my friends will do what must be done. My job is to help them understand what that is before the time comes. That's one of the things I brought you here to ask you. Do you think you could come with us? It won't be easy. We're talking about a long journey to a place without any magic."

Osterhoudt stared at her for a long time and then started shaking his head. "I am too old for such a journey. I would only slow you down. As for your not making it to the end…" He shook his head again. "You have an affinity for time. Time will not punish you when you are doing it a service."

She narrowed her eyes. "What does that mean?"

He smiled and sipped his tea. "What that means," he said as he set his cup down, "will be explained to you when you get back."

Hermione quirked a crooked smile at him, unsure if she was beginning to suspect he was crazy or if she was beginning to allow herself to hope. They felt suspiciously like the same thing.

* * *

><p>:<p>

*nods*


	31. Chapter 31

**AN**: I've been super bad about review replies. I'm sorry, I knew I would be with this fic. I want you all to know that I am really honored that you take the time to tell me how much you are enjoying it. Or even to tell me that I'm driving you nuts. That's fun too...

* * *

><p>"It's a bit heavy, what if we used a Lightening Charm?"<p>

Ginny shook her head as she helped Ron adjust his pack. "No magic, remember? The charm will wear off when we cross the event horizon."

"Oh, yeah. Why do I keep forgetting that?"

"Oi! What do you think? This one? Or this one?" They all turned to George, who was holding up his new purple and orange balaclavas.

Hermione shook her head and turned to Harry, who was sitting next to her at the kitchen table. "Do you think they really understand?"

He looked at her. "What it's like without magic? No. They use it the same way they breathe. They'll learn fast though. Our greatest asset is their hearts and their minds. No one can take that kind of magic away."

Quint walked into the kitchen with a small bag and held it up. "Here we are. I kept it small. Not much more than clean knickers and a tooth brush. Who has room?"

"Over here," George called, catching the bag and stuffing it into his pack along with his hats. Quint would be the only one who would not be carrying anything. The rest of them had almost finished loading up the tents, water, food, and other items that they would need. The reality of what they were facing hadn't really seemed to start to seep in until Hermione's short lesson on Muggle first aid. The realization that they wouldn't be able to mend a cut or set a broken bone with a spell hadn't sat well.

The ward on the Floo chimed, and they all tensed, even knowing that whoever had free access to the home was safe. When Arthur appeared in the kitchen there was a visible ripple of relief.

"Oh, my," he said, admiring their Muggle hiking gear. "Don't you all look splendid!"

He smiled and set down a bag. "Some sandwiches from your mum. She thought you might not bring enough food."

Ginny snorted as Ron snatched up the bag and began shoving it into the pack he'd just taken off.

"And here's your Portkey. It's as safe as can be. Xenophilus Lovegood made a good showing when he purchased it from the Ministry. Requesting a programmable Portkey is highly irregular, but he did a lovely song and dance about how violently migratory Pollenwibblers are, and how difficult it was to catch them for study. They eventually caved in from fatigue. The marvelous thing was that I didn't even have to tell him why I needed it. He just did it. Here," he set a broken ukulele down on the table, along with a slip of paper. "Here are the instructions on how to set the destination."

Raising his eyebrows, he blew out a breath and clapped his hands together. "And that's that. Are you ready?"

Harry nodded, but shrugged. "We're as ready as we're going to be. I think if we don't start soon, we might go a little mad." The others made murmuring noises of assent.

They all hung their packs on hooks by the back door and the Portkey was set on a small table just under them. There was nothing left to do but wait for Philips' signal.

:

Hermione sat on the couch in the library, swirling the globe in her lap around and around as she listened to Quint and George argue over their game of exploding snap. The door downstairs opened and Ginny sat up, setting her book aside. Harry and Ron came in, waving bags. "What have you got?" Quint said, tossing his cards down and rubbing his stomach.

"It's Harry's night to cook," said Ron with a grin. "That means McDonald's!"

Quint wrinkled his nose. "What, exactly, is McDonald's?"

"Oh, you'll love it, mate!" The bags were dumped on the table and everyone began tearing into them.

Hermione couldn't help but giggle at the appalled look on Quint's face after his first bite.

:

By Saturday afternoon, tempers were starting to flare. Ginny and Ron went at it first, predictably, but even Harry was starting to get a little shirty with Quint and George. Hermione was hiding from them in the library, standing at the window, looking out at the Muggles passing by on the pavement. It was a beautiful summer's day in London, mild and sunny, so lots of parents were out with their children.

She swallowed back the threat of tears.

She'd written and sent off a letter to her parents. Nothing too over the top, no need to alarm them needlessly if by some miracle Abel Osterhoudt was right and she was going to come through this. Still, she managed to say everything she needed them to know. Hopefully, the letter would be a balm if her destiny played out to a bitter end.

She'd thought about writing a letter for Severus and leaving it to be sent on if she didn't return. She wanted to apologize, tell him how very sorry she was for prying into his private pain. He'd _asked_ her to accept the fact that he never wanted to discuss it. Why had she found it so hard to respect that?

Now, as she waited for the beginning of the end, she found that all she wanted to do was go back and kiss him again for the first time. It was the one moment that made her heart twist and cry out in her chest. Knowing what she now knew, what had been a bit confusing and a bit odd at the time was screamingly painful now. Had _no one_ kissed him in all that time?

She wished she could kiss him again. That man _needed_ more kisses.

Her thoughts were disturbed by the sudden flare of heat in the pocket of her jeans. She'd been so wrapped up in her reverie, that at first she didn't realize what it was. Jumping back, she snatched the coin out and ran across the room to where parchment and ink had been sitting by the globe for two days.

Picking up the quill, she flipped the coin over and read the inscriptions along the edge: _'69.297W/53.867S.'_ She jotted it down and palmed the coin, sending: '_Get to safety_.' Then she snatched up the globe and started turning it. When she knew what country she was looking for, she snatched up the atlas on the table and started flipping pages impatiently. Fifteen minutes later, she had finished her calculations.

"I got it!" she shrieked. "I've got it!"

She shoved the coin back into her pocket and raced out of the library, as doors all over the house banged open and feet started pounding down the stairs.

She collided with George in the kitchen doorway and the two of them were almost run down by Ron. "Where?" Ginny asked, holding up the ukulele and the instructions.

"Here's the adjusted coordinates. We'll be landing pretty far to the south, but that's better than bouncing off a null zone in transit and ending up on the moon."

Harry came running into the room, still shoving an arm into his jumper. "Where are we off to?" he asked.

"Argentina. Tierra del Fuego," she answered.

"Sweet," he replied with a grin. "Let's go!"

It took a few minutes to program the Portkey, and then they spent a few more minutes banging into each other as they all tried to change into their new winter gear in the cramped space by the back door. They trooped out into the garden, still buckling the straps to their packs, as Ginny held out the broken ukulele.

"Merlin, I'm sweating already," said Quint.

"Cooling Charm," said Ginny. "You won't need it for long."

"Can I tell Mum and Dad we're off?" Ron asked, holding his hand a few inches above the Portkey.

Hermione's first thought was to say no, but then she shrugged. "Yeah. Go on."

Ron flicked his wand, and they watched his Patronus dart off out of the yard. With a hesitant smile, he nodded and grabbed the ukulele. "Right," he said. "I'm set."

At Hermione's nod, Ginny tapped the broken instrument with her wand and said, "_Portus_."

:

"_Gods_, it's cold!"

"Take the Cooling Charm off," Ginny muttered, stamping her feet and shooting Quint an annoyed look.

"I did! I'm still bloody cold. It's nearly July!" he said in an affronted tone.

"Yes, which means _cold_ in the southern hemisphere. How did you miss the significance of buying winter clothing?"

"Well, I'm not going to be _wearing_ much, am I?" he snapped back.

"Stop it, the both of you," Hermione snapped. "We've just got here, for god's sake." She turned to Quint. "Give yourself time to adjust. We'll start off on our brooms. We have a long way to go yet."

They all pulled out their brooms and enlarged them. No one had brought their best, but they wouldn't need speed. Hermione pulled out the Muggle GPS she'd bought and took a few moments to program it before she pointed and they set off.

The snow-covered landscape they travelled through was beautiful. Rolling open country gave way to forest here and there and was framed by the mountains in the distance. It was similar to areas of Scotland, but different enough to be new. They flew in silence, each to their own thoughts, and they all stuck close to Hermione. Her calculations were only estimates, and if they hit the event horizon while flying too high or too fast, it could be lethal when their brooms turned back into little more than stylish cleaning implements.

After an hour of flying along, keeping an eye on her GPS, Hermione signaled. They all set down in a snowy clearing and turned to her expectantly. "We're thirty-five miles out," she said. "I don't feel comfortable flying blind anymore." She turned to Quint. "What about you? How are you doing with the cold?"

He shrugged. "I'll live."

"Then you're on," she said, spreading her arm toward the northwest.

He nodded and went to hand off his broom to George. Thinking better about it, he tossed it into the underbrush, kicking it out of sight. Then, with a shake of his head and a rolling of his shoulders, he changed into his Animagus form. Hermione shifted the heavy pack on her back, already feeling the strain, and set off after the English bulldog scurrying ahead. The others followed, staying about twenty feet behind him and flying close to the ground.

After a few moments, Ron muttered, "Why can't I stop looking at his bollocks?"

Hermione burst out in a tittering giggle, "I know. It's kind of horrifying, isn't it?"

"Three Galleons says he lifts his leg within the next ten minutes," said George.

"He's a trained Auror. I say he holds out for twenty," said Harry.

"I'm in," said Ginny. "Look at him sniffing everything… I say he doesn't make it five."

Quint stopped, looked back over his shoulder, and growled. Then, with a shake that started with his head and ended with his bollocks flapping, he took off again.

They stopped two hours later.

"My back is killing me," Ron groaned as he lowered himself to the fallen log they'd found. Ginny had cleared it of snow and cast a Heating charm on it, figuring there was no point in suffering before they had to.

Hermione hissed in pain as she tried to shrug off her pack. The weight suddenly disappeared and she looked back to see Quint lifting it off her. "Thank you," she said with a sigh.

Ron handed out Molly's sandwiches, while Harry passed around bottles of water. "Is anyone else contemplating eating all the food we brought so we don't have to carry it?" asked Ginny as she sagged down on the log.

"Yeah," said George in a tired voice. "I've been taking inventory of what I brought, trying to figure out what I can toss to make it lighter. All I can come up with is an extra hat and Quint's toothbrush."

"_Oi!_"

Hermione snorted at Quint's affronted tone.

"How far have we come?" Harry asked.

"I'm reading us at just over twenty-six miles out," Hermione said. "We're making good time. I would have thought we'd have hit the event horizon already. It will be expanding at a steady rate, so I don't know when we'll cross it."

"Merlin," Ron said. "I never would have thought twenty miles was far. How do Muggles do this?"

Hermione laughed. It felt marvelous to laugh. "They drive," she said, still giggling.

Ron sighed and bit his sandwich.

"How are you holding up, pooch?" George asked.

"My feet are cold," Quint replied. "Give me a while to warm up and I'll be fine." Ginny flicked her wand at Quint's feet, and he sighed with pleasure. "Ta. That's lovely."

Hermione watched her friends eating and chatting, complaining and cajoling, and she smiled. Finishing her own lunch, she tossed the rubbish in a bag and set it out where the others could reach it. Clearing her throat, she said, "I guess now is as good a time as any to talk about what we're facing." The other five looked up at that, and all of them wore the same glum expression. She nodded and sighed. "You all know the prophecy by now. I'm destined to fail. That means one of you gets to save the world. All you need to do is reach the crystal and grab hold of it. That's the hard part, really. The next step is easy. Too easy. If you aren't prepared, you can reset time completely. What you need to focus on is what you want to do before you touch it. It will react to your thoughts. You need to make your choices before we get there.

"Different cultures see the choices differently. To some, ending everything will bring about the next phase of life. To others, restarting the world is the natural order. In the old, Persian tract I found, they thought the Saoshyant was meant to do that, go back to the beginning and start all over again. That's what they meant about raising all the dead. Everyone who had ever been born would have a new chance to be born. That's how Farzeen knew it was a false Zoroastrian tale. That's not what their belief system is about."

"But wait," Ginny said. "I thought you were the Saoshyant."

"No. I'm not. One of you is."

The five of them stared at each other, sharing bewildered looks.

She sighed and huddled in on herself. "Anyway, here's what you need to know. The crystal has to be used. If it's left to its own devices, it will build up enough of a magical resonance that it will shatter on its own. That would be cataclysmic."

"Has that happened before?" Ron asked.

Hermione shook her head. "We wouldn't be here if it had. The crystal is connected to humans in some way. The texts didn't explain why, but they did leave me with the impression that there is an aloof sort of sentience at work. The crystal is always hard to get to, it always triggers the worst sort of instincts in us, and those with altruistic motives are always outnumbered. The searcher, that's me, cannot actually touch the crystal. My job is to find it and to direct the energies of the person who uses it. That's what I'm going to do now."

She let out a slightly breathy laugh. "In truth, I have no control over any of you. Whoever grabs the crystal is free to do what they will, in regards to resetting time. You could go back as far as you wish. You could go forward. You can do anything you want. The caveat is, once you let go of the crystal, you—this you, that's here with me now—ceases to exist. If you go back to a time before you were born, you could change whatever event you wish, but once you do, you endanger your own conception. If you do that, then when you let go of the crystal, you will be gone forever. Am I making myself clear?"

The five of them nodded in unison.

"What if you go back to a point when you're still alive?" asked Ron. "What if Harry were to go back and save his Mum and Dad? Or one of us go back and save Fred? I mean, we've discussed it. Those are our two obvious things."

Harry flushed at the question and Ginny wrapped her hands around his elbow.

Hermione smiled. "That's a very good question. The fact is, he could do just that." She turned to Harry and looked into his bright, green eyes. "You could stop Wormtail from selling out your parents. Or you could _make_ Sirius become the secret keeper. That way, your parents would survive." She shrugged. "Of course, if your parents survived, your life would be completely different. You and I might never have been friends. You and Ginny might never have come together. In fact, perhaps the ripples of events would play out in such a way that Ginny would never be born. Do you see? Perhaps your parents threw a party and Ron's parents decided to attend on a night that, in our timeline, they'd chosen to stay in.

"If you change the past that much, you, the Harry Potter that we know and love, won't ever have existed."

She turned to George. "It's not always a sure way of escaping fate, either. You _could_ bring Fred back. Go back in time to that moment before the wall fell and push him out of the way, but you don't know for sure that he wouldn't have been killed ten minutes later. Or you die instead. And perhaps, if Fred doesn't die, Bill and Fleur don't decide to start a family early. Then you don't have Victoire." She sucked in a breath, blowing it out slowly. "And think if Quint is the one to reach it. What if he goes back to save a relative that _he_ loves. To right a wrong that marked _his_ soul, and by doing so, he changes all of us? What if his needed thing keeps all of us from being born? We don't live in a vacuum. Whatever you chose to do will affect the entire world, to one degree or another.

"Every moment of opportunity presents a complexity of futures. You can change an event, but you don't have control of the future that is spawned by your change. Do you understand?"

George nodded slowly, his eyes shadowed and haunted.

"It's even worse moving forward in time. If you try to move into the future, you must know that you will take the present with you. There is no coming back. And again, once you relinquish your hold on the crystal, you cease to exist. You gain little to nothing. You can go to the future and see what it holds, but you can't bring anything you know back in time. The only way back is with a Time-turner. And even then, someone would have to reinvent them, and then you have a maximum of two hours."

Quint scrubbed his hands through his curly, blonde hair. "This thing is pointless then," he said. "It's stupid, really. Why does it exist?"

She smiled and held out her hands, palm up. "It's meant to test us. To see if we're still worthy."

"Of what?" George said with bitterness. "Of whom?"

Hermione shook her head. "The ancient texts assumed it was the Gods. I'll leave the theology of that to you."

"So what would you have us do?" Ginny asked. "How would you direct our energies?"

Hermione closed her eyes. "I've thought about this for days. I could go back and save my three field agents. I could save Alonso. I could save Farzeen and Ts'ao Daiyu and all of those people in Myanmar…" She shrugged. "It's only seven, eight months, right? The farther back you go, the more you change. It would change fewer lives than going back for Fred. It would change a lot fewer lives than going back and saving Harry's parents." She shook her head slowly back and forth. "But I'd been changing the world to fix my personal tragedies, and that strikes me as supremely selfish. I think changing time is best done in tiny doses. No one should play God. That's why I eventually decided that I would only go back an hour at the most."

She stood up and reached for her pack. That was enough for now. She'd tell them he rest when they got closer. "You will all do what you feel is right. I chose you all because I have faith in your choices. If I could influence you, it would be to urge you to use as little time as possible."

Ron stood up and grabbed up his pack. "Can we at least go back far enough to before you fail?" There was a grumbling of assent at this. "Because that's another thing we've been discussing amongst ourselves. You've been doing a crap job of hiding the fact that you know you're going to die."

Hermione winced. She bit her lip and looked at her friends. "I'm not going to lie. I think that would be really great. I'm kind of tired of contemplating death. It's not that much fun."

"You're preaching to the choir," said Harry with a laugh.

Hermione scrunched up her nose. "I imagine so," she said with a smile. "Just know that the choice is intended to be hard. Saving me might entail losing someone else. Make your best choice and know that I'll be at peace with it, whatever you decide."

Harry reached out with one arm and hugged her tight. "So we'll aim for that, yeah?" he said to the others. "Whoever gets the crystal saves the Know-it-all."

The others agreed and they started packing up to leave. Hermione kept her face turned away so they wouldn't see her expression. Her momentary joy had been blotted out by Harry's use of her nickname. The memory of the last time Snape had called her that was still a raw wound.

In no time at all, they had mounted their brooms and were once again riding along, following the dog across the snowy ground.

:

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><p>:<p>

Traipsing through the woods is the new black. JKR said so.


	32. Chapter 32

**AN**: Careful editing of the ending has resulted in... another chapter. I'm so bad at editing. Anyway, for those of you counting down to the end, we're looking at 38.

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><p>The afternoon was waning when Quint gave a yelp that pulled everyone from their thoughts. Hermione looked up to see the dog stumble and then, without warning, Quint was lying sprawled face down on the ground. Hermione landed and hurried over to him just as he flopped over onto his back. Her broom suddenly grew heavier in her hand.<p>

"That _hurt!_" he shouted. "Gods!"

The others landed and slowly approached, holding their brooms. "I take it we've hit the event horizon?" Harry quipped, reaching down to haul Quint to his feet.

"You _think?_" Quint snapped, brushing snow off his coat.

"Why don't you run back over the line and warm yourself up?" Hermione said. "The border will be expanding and this is our last chance to use magic. By the morning, it could be another twenty miles away." She looked down at her GPS before looking up at the sky. It was turning grey, the clouds thickening and threatening rain. "We're just over ten miles out. We got a lot farther than I thought we would. We've made excellent time. We can walk the other ten miles tomorrow. This seems as good a place to spend the night as any."

"What do we do with these?" George asked, holding up his broom.

"I think they'll make good firewood," Ginny quipped. "We won't be needing them again, and I sure as hell don't want to carry one more damned thing."

Ron nodded and started to collect them. "Maybe we can get them burning hot enough that some of this other wood won't smoke us to death."

Hermione looked around and picked a place to set up the tents. She'd had enough experience picking campsites when they'd gone on the run to be able to do it in her sleep. "Ron, you make the fire, we'll set up camp. Ginny, if you could gather more wood?"

"I'm on it," she said, unsnapping the buckles on her pack and shrugging it off.

Hours later, they were sitting on groundsheets laid over logs, watching George toast marshmallows over the fire. Quint was huddled up on one side of her, and Ron on the other.

"I'm going to freeze my bollocks off tonight," Quint moaned, rubbing his gloved hands up and down his shins.

"Good, then we won't have to look at them anymore," Ron said scootching closer to Hermione.

"You're just jealous because they're bigger than yours," Quint muttered.

Hermione rolled her eyes and reached forward to flip one of the rocks she was heating out of the fire. She picked it up with a large sock and wrapped it, handing it to Quint. "You'll be fine. You'd be surprised how warm a tent can be."

Ron snorted. "Especially after you've gone ice fishing for your best mate."

Harry chuckled. "Don't remind me."

"I'm going to go and find out," said Quint, clutching his hot rock to his chest. "Call me when it's my watch."

Harry and Ginny were the next to bed and George wandered off shortly after that. Hermione looked up at the sky through the trees. There was no moon, no stars, nothing. The smoke from the fire seemed to just fade into a black, quilted ceiling.

Hermione flipped another rock out onto a flannel and handed it to Ron, kicking another into the fire to take its place.

"Can I ask you something?" he said.

"Sure," she replied.

"What about the other part of the prophecy?"

"What about it?"

"Have you given anymore thought to stabbing Harry?"

"I heard that," Harry called from the tent he was sharing with Ginny.

Hermione snorted and bumped her shoulder against his. "It probably would have been better to have done that before we ran out of magic to heal him."

Ron dropped his voice to a near whisper. "But seriously. What about the part where it says, 'life and death will depend on the one she cuts the deepest'?"

She shrugged. "I've sort of decided it means whichever one of you would be most upset at my death."

Ron thought about that for a while but then shook his head. "I thought it was talking about Snape, but then you didn't bring him."

She craned her head to see his face. "Why would you say that?"

Ron shrugged. "Tell me if I'm wrong, but didn't you just dump him? That can cut pretty deeply. Quint said he took off like a bat out of hell the other night."

Rolling her eyes, she said, "You spend a bit too much time thinking about my private life. You know that, don't you?"

"Did you or did you not break things off with him?"

Shaking her head, she said, "Actually, it's more complicated than that. He's not off sulking because I broke his heart. He's furious because I broke his trust. If you want a deep cut, that was a bad one. I don't think he ever cared enough for me to be upset that we're no longer burning up the sheets. However, he'll always have his pride, and I damaged that."

"How?"

"By prying into his personal business, sort of like you're doing."

Ron lifted his hands in surrender. "Alright, I can take a hint." He dropped them again and added, "I'll just tell you one thing. The man that ran into the lake fully clothed to see if you were okay was _not_ worried about his pride."

Hermione scowled. "We were _injured_. He _is_ a teacher, you know. They're trained to react to emergencies."

Ron snorted. "Hermione, _I _was bleeding to death with six inches of bone showing. You had a cut on your toe. He ran right past me."

"I had a cut on my back, too," she said, knowing it sounded stupid. She raised her shoulders and let them drop with a heavy sigh. "I don't think his mind works like other people's. I'm _not_ blind. I saw the same things—more, if you must know—but I can tell you from personal experience that assuming one plus one equals two with that man is a dangerous misstep. Just because it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, doesn't mean you won't turn around and find yourself staring down a bird of prey."

"I can see that. After all, he walked like a Death Eater and talked like a Death Eater and when we turned around, he'd been a hero the whole time."

"Exactly," she said. "Anyway, I'm done. I can admit that I'm a bit stuck on him, but it wasn't going to happen, and I've got bigger fish to fry at the moment. I just wish I hadn't screwed things up so completely at the end. I don't like the mess I've left behind. It makes me look a bit too much like the petty little bitch I was for a moment. It's not how I'd like to be remembered."

Ron huffed. "Well, when we _all_ get back home, you can try to fix that bit."

She smirked and bumped his shoulder again. "I'll do that."

She pushed up off the groundsheet and stamped her feet to get the blood moving again. "I'm not sure sitting on our arses by the fire actually constitutes first watch," she said.

"Right." He rolled up onto his feet and they set off to walk the perimeter of the campsite.

It was about three hours later that they dislodged Quint and George and headed to their own tent. Hermione stripped down to her thermal underwear, put on clean socks, and zipped herself into her sleeping bag. Ron continued to scootch closer in his own bag until they resembled two caterpillars trying to mate.

She was lying there, listening to Quint and George murmuring to each other as they headed off, when Ron leaned up on one elbow and looked down on her. "Do you ever think about us giving it another try?"

She giggled and rolled onto her back to look up at him. "Honestly? About once every week. And then you say something annoying."

He snorted. "Yeah. I think the same thing. I mean, I love you, right? And you're beautiful and smart and sexy as hell. But, Christ, you can bore me to tears some days."

The sound she made trying to smother the laugh that wanted to escape was reminiscent of a donkey with a sore throat. "I know!" she replied in the best whisper she could muster while giggling. "You do such a bad job of hiding it! I'll be in the middle of saying something and see your eyes. It's almost amazing. You'll be listening so intently… and then your eyes will go out of focus, and your hand will rub your stomach, and I know you're thinking about _dinner_."

He laughed and bumped her. "Not always. Sometimes I'm thinking about how your nattering is going to give me an ulcer one day."

She snorted, a long, adenoidal sound that deprived her of all dignity, and they dissolved into giggles.

He dropped his head down on his make-shift pillow, and she rolled onto her side and snuggled back against him. "Here's the way I see it," he said as the rain began to patter down on the roof of the tent. "We were pretty crap together, but we did better with each other than we've managed so far with anyone else."

"Very true."

"So what do you say to a time limit? If neither of us finds someone else by, say, thirty, we'll get married. At least we'll get a decent shag now and again, and we'll have brilliantly annoying kids."

She smiled, feeling her heart melt a little. "Fifty," she said.

"Thirty-five."

"Forty-five"

"Forty, and that's my final offer."

"Deal."

With that, they whispered their good nights, and fell silent. Hermione went to sleep smiling for what felt like the first time in a year.

:

She woke up to a shout.

Opening her eyes, she saw the same confused alarm on Ron's face as she felt. The gray light filtering into the tent told her it was still early. She could hear water dripping off the trees, but little else. In fact, it was too quiet. They shoved themselves out of their sleeping bags and scrambled into their trousers and boots before they both crawled out of the tent. Hermione's eyes widened, and Ron made a strangled sound as they took in the scene.

The fog was thick but they could still see Ginny lying unconscious by the smoking fire pit, her temple was coated in clotted blood. Harry was bound and gagged on his knees, staring in pain and fury at the man gripping his hair. George and Quint were standing in the mud with their hands up still wearing their long underwear. There were about seven men and women surrounding them, all brandishing long knives or short swords. Three looked Asian, two looked to be eastern European, and one could either have been Spanish or Portuguese. The one clutching Harry's hair was Bulgarian. No doubt about that.

"_Chilikov?_" Hermione said, confused to see the Bulgarian department head in her campsite. He'd been the one most vocal that whatever artifact it was that was coming, it needed to be destroyed. "What the hell are you _doing?_"

"Earning my revard," he said with a hideous smile. "I get an extra million for your capture."

"From Caleb Lloyt, I presume? How stupid are you? He's not going to share his wealth, and I can tell you he's not going to get wealthy. There _is_ no artifact. It's not that kind of event."

Chilikov's eyes narrowed. He pulled out a knife and held it to Harry's throat. "Shut up. This is not a play vere vee make long speeches as someone tries to save you. I only need you. All these others are unnecessary."

Hermione swallowed and exchanged a glace with Ron. He grimaced and shook his head. Hermione closed her eyes for a moment and then held her hands up.

"Tie them," Chilikov spat.

Two women started towards them and then everyone jumped at the incredibly loud bang. One of the Asian men grunted and looked down at his chest, confused. He looked up again, but then his legs folded under him, and he fell. Another bang, and another man cried out grabbing his stomach. Everyone just stood and looked around. Several people had pulled out their useless wands and were gripping them and their blades with grim determination. On the third bang, Chilikov's forehead crumpled and brains flew out of the back of his head. He pitched forward into the fire pit as someone screamed.

In that moment, everyone seemed to move at the same time. Hermione launched herself at the closest woman, punching her in the throat and sweeping her legs out from under her. Ron smashed the other woman's nose with his elbow, sending blood fountaining from her face. She heard a dull crunch and saw Quint drop another man with his head facing the wrong direction. He picked up the man's long knife and slashed it at another that was coming at him. Hermione sent a flying kick to the back of the attacker's head and as he staggered, and Quint buried the knife in the man's neck.

There was another bang, even louder this time, and Hermione jumped. She turned and saw Snape stepping out of the mist clutching a pistol in his hand. He looked like vengeance personified. His cloak flared out behind him as he strode into the campsite and dispatched another assailant. The woman's sword flew from her hand and landed at Hermione's feet. She just stood there as the woman staggered and collapsed with a gory hole in her chest.

Snape. Here. With a pistol? She blinked several times but the only thought she could muster was an almost manic sense of relief.

The clearing grew quiet and she looked up. George was hovering over Ginny, and Ron was untying Harry. Quint was tying up the survivors. Both of them. It was over, and she had no idea how long she'd been standing there looking confused.

"Hermione, grab the first aid kit," George snapped.

She turned and crawled back into her tent, snatching the kit out of her pack and hurrying back out. She ran over to Ginny, pulling the box open. Smelling salts did nothing. Ginny was completely unresponsive. Her pulse was steady and her breathing was sound, but it was obvious she was heavily concussed. George grabbed up some gauze and a bottle of water and began cleaning the wound on her head. He hissed and pulled his hand back. "There's too much swelling to be sure, but I think her skull's broken," he said.

"So's Harry's leg," Ron added as Harry yelped in pain.

"Splint it," Harry hissed, crawling closer to his girlfriend.

"What do I do about Ginny?" George moaned.

"Don't move her head," Snape said. "Here." He knelt down, grabbing two of the straightest sticks from the pile of firewood. "We need to make sure it can't move, but we also need to make sure she doesn't vomit and choke." Between the two of them, they bandaged Ginny's head to the sticks with bandages, taking pain-staking care as they shifted her. When they were done, they had her propped slightly to the side, resting her weight on whatever items they'd managed to grab.

"Can we get her in a tent? It would be warmer," George asked.

Snape shook his head. "She can't be moved."

"We can't leave her just lying on the ground."

"Hiding her would be a good idea, but it would be better to allow hypothermia to set in. Lowering her body temperature would give her a better chance. Better to cut the bottom out of a tent and set it over her."

He looked up at Hermione for the first time, and she realized how haggard he was. His eyes looked bruised, and he had more stubble than she'd ever seen on him before. She took in the black leather gloves, the blue Muggle jumper, and brown, corded trousers and thought he looked wonderful despite how wrong his clothing looked.

Her heart gave a slow thud as his eyes met hers. She was almost pathetically happy to see him, and yet, the cold, rigid way he carried himself cut her to the quick. There was something about his eyes, a cold, flat expression that kept her from smiling at him.

"If she's to have a chance," he said, "someone will have to walk back out of here and go for help immediately." He stood up and brushed his hands on his legs. "You have some decisions to make."

"How far away was the event horizon?" she asked.

He shrugged. "About ten miles back when we crossed it around midnight."

"We?" Quint asked.

"Arthur, William, and Longbottom came with me." Snape jutted his chin at the body in the fire pit. "Lloyt and his people were already here when we showed up. I gathered they don't know the exact location, but are simply out looking for you. His people split up onto teams. I've been shadowing this group all night, taking out stragglers. I fell too far behind as the sun started to come up. I didn't realize they'd found your camp."

"How did you know to come to Argentina?" Ron asked.

Snape looked over at him and replied, "Philips was grabbed at the Ministry. He's dead. Your father contacted me, and we found your calculations on the kitchen table."

"Where did you get a bloody _gun?_" Harry asked, reaching over and taking Ginny's hand. "And how do you know how to shoot it?"

Snape scowled. "I got it in Northern Ireland over twenty years ago in a fit of paranoia. I think the more relevant issue is why you _don't_ have one. You all knew you were walking into a dead zone with a price on your head." He jabbed a hand at the hunting knife on Quint's hip. "Did you _really_ think that would be enough?"

Hermione clenched her jaw and walked away, heading toward Harry and Ginny's tent to start unloading it.

"We _have_ to move her," said Ron. "That pistol made enough noise to bring the other groups straight here."

"Would any of them know what it was?" George asked. "_I_ stood there like a gormless twit, and I was watching them get shot."

"We can't take that chance," Harry said. "It would only take one Muggleborn or a wizard with a passion for Muggle cinema to recognize the sound. We have to get her out of here."

"Move her and she dies," Snape intoned.

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><p>:<p>

heh.


	33. Chapter 33

**AN**: You guys are the best. Much love to my Hebe, for her dedication to getting this thing polished and posted.

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><p>"We hide you," Hermione said, pulling Harry's pack out of his tent and straightening up. "We'll set the tent over both of you and cut enough brush to cover it. We'll do the same with the bodies."<p>

"And the prisoners?" Quint asked, stepping behind the man and the woman kneeling on the ground.

She ruthlessly crushed her qualms, allowing herself to feel nothing but the impact of Philip's death, and turned her head to Snape. "Do they know anything you don't?"

"No."

She turned back to Quint and leveled a flat-eyed stare at him. He nodded and grabbed them both, dragging them to their feet and walking them off into the trees. The fog bounced the sound of their swift end back to the clearing. She shuddered and swallowed, mentally reciting, '_Harry, Ginny_, _Philips, Daiyu, Viktor, Farzeen,_ _Kadriye,_ _Alonso, Zhou Li, Abraão,_ _Fawkler, Emerson, and Rigley_…'

"George, start cutting shrubs. I'll get Ginny and Harry under the tent. Ron, you're the best choice to run for help. You have the most knowledge of Muggles. Start heading east, eventually, you'll come to a Muggle road. Flag down any car you see. Pack light, but take what you need. Grab the GPS. I'll mark the location so you can find the clearing again. Keep your coin handy. As soon as someone touches the crystal, the magic will return. We won't need search and rescue if it does."

"Can't we just use the crystal to come back to now?" George asked.

Hermione nodded. "I think that's a given, but we're outnumbered. We can't depend on it being us that reach it first."

"If someone else gets it, it will hardly matter if Ron finds the Muggles," he replied.

"True, but I don't feel right about just leaving them here and letting fate decide.

"Me neither. I was just stating the obvious."

"Don't," Harry snapped.

"Right."

She looked over at Snape and then jutted her chin towards the tents. "Sleep. You look like hell. We can only give you about an hour."

He gave her a tired nod and headed back out of the campsite, returning a few minutes later with a leather satchel on his shoulder. He didn't look at her at all as he crawled into her tent to sleep.

It was an hour and a half before she went and woke him.

They'd buried Harry and Ginny under a realistic-looking cluster of shrubs, and hidden all traces of their camp except the tent that Snape was in. The bodies had been dragged into the trees and hidden under more bushes there was little they could do about the churned up snow, but there was less under the tress, and George had dragged branches back and forth to obliterate tracks as best as he could. They'd set Harry up with plenty of food, water, and Ibuprofen, while he sat staring at Ginny in glum silence. She'd shared a painful parting with Ron, showing him how to use the GPS, and making sure he knew how to pronounce 'helicóptero' correctly, while they both pretended they weren't crying.

She crawled into the tent and quietly packed as much as she could before she shook Snape's shoulder. He huffed a deep sigh and rolled over, giving her a bleary-eyed, sleepy smile before he realized where he was and frowned.

"It's time," she said. "We need to get moving."

She sat back on her heels and watched as he nodded and sat up, shoving away the sleeping bag. He reached for his boots and began working the laces. "How are you holding up?" he asked, his voice hoarse from sleep.

"I don't know," she replied.

He nodded and shoved his feet into his boots.

"Have you forgiven me?" she whispered.

He went still for a moment, not looking away from the laces he was holding clenched in his hands. He shook his head. "I don't know how," he said after a moment.

"But you came," she said with quiet agony.

He did look at her then, and the expression in his eyes made her feel like a fool. "I didn't come for you," he said.

She swallowed and backed out of the tent with her dignity in shreds.

:

Hermione trooped along, putting one foot in front of the other. She didn't bother to look up, she didn't bother to look to the side, she just kept her feet moving. They'd been walking for hours in the same formation, so she knew Quint was on her right and George was on her left. Snape was a presence she felt constantly, lurking somewhere behind the three of them. She did her best to ignore him, instead choosing to gnaw on her fear and worry for Harry, Ginny, and Ron. Leaving Harry lying in pain next to Ginny had been the most wretched thing she'd ever done. She felt hollow inside, as if her soul had withered and left behind nothing more than a void.

"Granger," Quint murmured.

She stopped and looked up. They were at the edge of the forest area they'd been traversing. Before them was an open, tundra-like landscape that rippled and buckled before erupting in snow-covered hills. She looked at her watch and then pulled her compass out of her pocket and checked it.

"It should be behind that first line of hills somewhere. About two miles, maybe less." She looked up at the sky, the fog had burned off hours ago, but the sky was still quilted with heavy, steel-colored clouds and the temperature was dropping. They had lucked out with an unseasonably mild winter so far, but the sky showed that winter's kindness was wearing off. "We can make it with hours to spare before nightfall."

"And then what?" George said. "We know we're facing other groups, and we'll be exposed when we leave the trees. We couldn't even run if we had to. We're so tired my niece could take us down. Wait until dark. It'll be safer, and we need rest. Snape's dead on his feet."

Hermione looked over her shoulder and saw Severus staring back at her with a calm expression. His eyes were red, raw, and swollen and his skin looked almost gray. It was obvious that he was done in. He must have been walking for close to fifteen hours with only the short nap between. She wondered why he hadn't said anything sooner. What had kept him going all day?

She frowned and looked back across the empty space. "All right. We'll set up a tent, just one, and no fire. I don't want the smoke. She nodded to the underbrush. "We'll hide it like Harry and Ginny's. Two sleep, two patrol."

It took them far too long. They were careful as they sawed through branches, but occasionally, one would snap and set them all on edge. They set up the tent on a pile of old leaves kicked into shape between two of the cypress-like conifers that grew in the area. When they were done, the tent couldn't be seen. Quint and Snape took the first rest, while George and Hermione shared a quiet meal of protein bars and bottled water. She hardly spoke a word, but he didn't seem to mind. They patrolled the area, mindful of the fact that neither Harry nor Ginny had been slouches when it came to danger, and yet both had been overcome by Chilikov and his men. They ventured further away from the tent, hoping to spot danger far enough away that a shout might do some good.

Eventually, they circled back to find Quint up and eating. He jerked his thumb behind him at the cluster of shrubs that hid their tent. "I'd let him sleep. Two hours isn't going to do him any good. It's like he's in a coma."

Hermione shrugged. "Your turn, George. I can't sleep." She turned and walked back off into the trees, endlessly circling, waiting for the night to fall.

When George woke up an hour and a half later, she was ready to go but Snape still wasn't moving. Quint and George nagged her to get some rest, promising to wake her in an hour and drag Snape out if he still wasn't moving. She relented with bad grace.

Crawling into the tent, she fumbled off her shoes, peeling her socks away from her broken blisters and putting on a new pair. She could barely see Snape bundled into his bag—he was sleeping on his stomach and only his hair was sticking out from the top—but she could easily hear his deep and even breaths. She stripped out of her jumper and trousers, and curled up into the bed that had been made out of three sleeping bags opened up on top of each other.

Sliding her wand under the small pile of clothing that was her pillow was a useless ritual. She curled up on her side, facing Snape, and began to fret. Was this where she failed? By letting him rest, was she taking too long to reach their goal? Was Ginny still alive? Had Ron found help? She hadn't heard the thump of a helicopter, had they walked so far she'd have missed it? Was Harry going mad with worry? Why hadn't she thought to bring some kind of off-road vehicle? Or a bloody gun? They'd already have been there if she'd done so. She'd been a witch too long. She'd stopped thinking like a Muggle at all.

With each new thought, she rolled in a different direction, unable to lay still, unable to get comfortable, unable to even begin to relax.

Snape shifted next to her, and she twisted around to look at him. She heard him suck in a deep breath and then watched as he pushed up onto his elbows and looked around, his face showing his disorientation.

"You still have almost an hour," she said quietly. "Go back to sleep."

His head swung around until he saw her and then he blew out the breath he'd been holding in one, long sigh. "How long have I been asleep?" he rasped.

"Not even four hours. I'm just lying down myself. Go back to sleep."

He dropped his head down and rolled his neck, stretching. When his head came back up, he flicked his hair out of his face and looked at her in silence until she rolled away from him and tucked her arm under her head. She heard him shifting about, unzipping his sleeping bag, and scratching at his hair. She expected to hear the sounds of him getting dressed next, so she almost yelped when he lifted up her blankets and slid under them, wrapping his arm around her.

He dragged her back against his chest and pressed his face into her hair by her ear. "I want to forgive you," he whispered. "You don't understand how novel that is. I've desired forgiveness for myself many a time—sometimes begging for it on my knees—but it has _never_ been in my nature to forgive."

She twisted around and burrowed into his arms, her tears bursting forth. "Oh, please forgive me," she sobbed. "I've never been so sorry in my life. I can't stand that I've hurt you! I don't want to die, knowing you hate me."

His arms tightened around her, and he held her as all of her fear and dread exploded out of her in the form of this one, small issue compared to the fate of the world.

"Shhhh. You won't die," he crooned. "And I _don't_ hate you. You just—everything will work out. You have nothing to fear."

His words were a balm on her ragged soul. She pressed her face against his neck, feeling the scratchiness of his day-old beard. It contrasted with the black, silk under her hands. She slid an arm around his chest and hugged him, feeling the muscles on his back bunching as he rubbed the back of her neck.

"Thank you," she said. "Even if it doesn't end as well as you think, it means a lot to me that you even tried to cheer me up." She pulled back and scrubbed at her face with her sleeve. Opening her eyes, she saw him looking down on her with a mixture of worry and confusion. In that moment, he looked so handsome it took her breath away. _Gods, if only_. She sighed and reached up, stroking his rough cheek. "You really are an incredible man," she said as she pulled her hand away.

His brows twitched in that way of his when he plainly didn't understand something. She gave him a sad smile and made to shift away, but he held her in place. It was her turn to be confused. He stared at her, his eyes skipping across her features as his one hand began to skim up along her side. She frowned, not understanding the signals he was sending as his arms held her immobile and his fingers caressed her. Her heart stopped as he leaned down and brushed his lips against hers.

Her breath left her in a gentle sigh as he closed his eyes and kissed her again. She felt herself smiling against his mouth as he kissed her a third time, and then his arms closed around her completely. She wrapped herself around him, kissing him back, matching her pace to his, letting him dictate. When he pressed himself against her, she let out a breathy moan.

He pulled away then, breathing heavily as he looked down on her. _There_ was the fire. His eyes had turned to liquid ink, and he licked his lower lips as he gazed at her. "What have you done to me?" he asked in the quietest of voices.

His question caught her off guard, and she shook her head, not knowing how to respond. He didn't seem to care. He leaned down and kissed her again, teasing her lips apart and letting forth with a deep growl when their tongues met. He pulled back again and held her gaze as one hand began to tug her shirt up. It almost seemed like he was daring her to stop him. When he'd exposed her breasts, he leaned down to kiss them, keeping his eyes locked with hers until the last moment. She sighed quietly and tangled her hands into his grimy hair.

His breath was scorching hot against her skin, and she couldn't get enough of him. Her hands never stopped moving as they traced the shape of his body under the silk of his long underwear. When she pulled at the hem and found his skin, they both let out a quiet hiss of pleasure. His hand slid down her belly and into her own clothes, and he began to play with her folds, kissing her breasts as he toyed with her. Her excitement grew and she closed her eyes and let it build. His fingers danced, and it didn't take long before she was biting her lip and thrashing under him as he crooned quiet encouragement. When her climax rushed through her, he rose up and kissed her with that incredible, almost-violent passion before they began to fumble with their clothing. He stripped her until she was naked but for the locket she still wore. He lifted it, tilting his head at it with a curious smile, before he kissed her again.

They joined with an almost desperate need and struggled to keep silent. The flimsy tent only offered the illusion of privacy. As he shoved himself inside of her over and over, their breathing told the entire tale. She held him to her, wishing they could merge into one being, wishing she could shove herself into his heart the way he'd filled hers. He pressed his face to her ear and whispered, "You feel so good. You always feel so fucking _good_." She bit her lip against the words she wanted to say, to shout, and just held him tighter. He wrapped an arm around the small of her back and pulled at her to meet his thrusts, and she grabbed at his head and kissed him. The tiny, mewling noise he made when their lips touched nearly broke her heart with its beauty. He pulled away, and she heard him grinding his teeth, struggling against the inevitable. He buried his face in her hair again and breathed, "You make it so hard…" She smirked at that and then chuffed out a breath as he choked back a groan and came.

She held him through his shuddering release, letting him crush her with his weight.

He pressed small kisses to her ear, her neck, and her jaw, before he shifted off of her and pulled her back up against his chest. She could feel him struggling to regain his breath, his shuddering making it seem almost like he was crying. When he finally calmed, he rested his forehead against the back of her shoulder. His hand caressed her belly in slow circles.

"You should sleep," he said in a quiet voice.

She sighed and gave a sleepy nod. "Not for too long," she said.

He brushed the hair away from the back of her neck and kissed her there. "No. Not for long."

Sated and momentarily replete, she let herself slip away, soothed by the soft caress of his hands on the back of her neck and between her breasts.

She floated back toward consciousness when she felt him shift closer and gave a sleepy, halfhearted smile, expecting his now-familiar stolen kiss.

Instead, she felt the slightest whisper of movement along her skin as her locket slid off her neck and into his waiting hand.

:

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><p>:<p>

Let the games begin...


	34. Chapter 34

**AN**: Recommended: Cinched seatbelt, big girl panties, stiff drink, pillow covering any nearby headbashing surfaces...

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><p>Hermione was so stunned that she didn't move, didn't physically react at all, as Snape casually shifted away from her. She held herself still as she listened to him dress himself, gather his things, and leave. As soon as he was gone, she rolled over and sat up, staring at the flap of the tent in numb shock.<p>

It made no sense. Why would he have done such a thing? It was a completely irrational act. Severus could never be that stupid.

Unless…

…he was irrational.

Could he have been affected by the negative aspect of the crystal all this time? But that doesn't explain everything. Was it possible he'd been _fighting _it this whole time?

_Shit_.

'_You make it so hard…_' What a complete _fool!_

'…_betrayed…'_ her mind whispered.

She listened to the fading crunch of his boots and the murmured greetings of Quint and George from across the clearing. The tone of his casual reply to them was like a dagger, slicing through the numbness and sending her into motion. She fumbled at the bedding, quietly snatching up her long underwear and shoving herself into it. She flung her clothing on while her brain went into overdrive and replayed a hundred memories all at once.

Ron looking at her across the table in the Ministry canteen:

'_Well, we're looking for something that could change the past. It strikes me that Snape has a pretty good motivation to want to change the past.'_

Standing in the doorway of his bedroom, that first night:

'_Will you betray me, Severus?'_

'_Name someone I haven't already betrayed…'_

Standing before his fireplace, holding his copper-headed mallet in his hand:

'_You over think everything, Granger… Yet, you never see what's right in front of you.'_

Gods, he'd told her the truth from thebeginning, and she didn't see it. She hadn't _wanted_ to see it. He might have been manipulating her for his own ends, but he'd_ never lied_. She pressed her hands against her mouth to stifle both the urge to scream and the urge to vomit.

_This_ was her failure! She'd believed in his innate goodness and had been blind to any other possibility.

No _wonder_ he didn't want her to care for him. He'd just been using her the entire time. She shook so much that she couldn't get her arm into the sleeve of her coat. She thought over that night when he'd helped her discover what chronominium was. The look of near lust on his face that wasn't sexual. Gods, even that first time she'd mentioned it in the Ministry records room. It had been that fast. _That fucking fast_. Sure, he'd been candid and playful before that, but in that one moment when she'd told him what was going on, he'd gone almost deadly serious. It hadn't been Caleb... He'd found a way to stay close to her because of—

Hermione's mind reeled as she made the last connection. Her eyes narrowed in fury as she hissed out the one name she'd been willfully ignoring for weeks… "_Lily_."

"Oi, Snape, everything alright?"

She looked up in panic, hearing the sound of heavy boots stomping closer. She was out of time and trapped. She grabbed up the heaviest thing she could find, a large, Muggle torch that George had thought his father would like and lifted it like a truncheon.

The tent flap burst open, and she swung for his skull. He dove to the side, causing her to miss, and she kicked out at him, catching him in the chest. As she finished the turn he backhanded her with a grunt. She landed on her back, swinging the torch for another blow, but he sprang at her, pinning her down. Her size had always been her weakness, but his strength was shocking nonetheless. His face was contorted in rage, twisting his features into a hideous mask. His eyes were pools of madness. Oh, gods, it _was_ the crystal. The man she thought she'd known was gone.

"_Where are they?_" he hissed into her face.

"You must be slipping," she spat. "Did you really think my translation would have stayed in that locket after we crossed the event horizon?"

"You're so fucking clever, you'd have found a way. I've searched the rest of your things, woman. They had to still be on you somehow."

"So you thought you'd _fuck_ me to find them?" She knew her voice betrayed every bit of her shame and humiliation and it angered her. "You really _are_ a whore, aren't you?"

He snarled at her. "You're just _so_ fucking curious about that, aren't you?" He twisted her arms painfully. "Is that your kink? Does it make you all wet in the dark of the night to think of me being used by other women? Other _men?_ _Dark Lords?_ You little _bitch_. You think you're so fucking superior, but inside you're just twisted as the rest of them! Would you have slept with me at all if I hadn't been of _use_ to you? Who used who first, Granger?"

She was furious when his words made her cry. "_You did_," she snapped. "Even when I only thought you were my friend, you were just using me. It must have been like hitting the jackpot. You get a possible way back to Lily, _and_ you get to take a swipe at Caleb as you go. All you had to do was play me for a fool. It must have been laughably easy; I already thought you were more than you really were. I do apologize for falling in love with you. That must have been so tedious and annoying. Very amateur on my part, I know."

"You know _nothing!_" he spat.

She shook her head. "I know _everything_. I just ignored what I didn't like! I know why you were trying to improve tactile sensation in pensieve solution when I saw you that first day. You wanted to be able to reach out and touch her, didn't you? Were you trying to relive a kiss? You can't let her go, can you? After all this time, and everything you've already given up, in the end there is only Saint _Lily_. Christ, how awful it must be to live in your skin. To be so far gone in your grief that you would shove away a woman who wanted to love you for a dead woman who _never could_."

"You can't imagine what it's like in my skin, Granger. Your little brain couldn't begin to encompass the pain. Now," he shook her, thudding her head against the floor of the tent, "where are your fucking _notes!_"

"Where the hell do you think they are? They're in my head! I'm a _fucking_ Know-it-all, remember?" She snorted at his look of surprise. "I burned them after the first time you showed an interest in the locket. I didn't think my hiding place was safe anymore."

"Then why the fuck were you still wearing it?"

"Because I was going off to _die_ and my mother gave it to me!" she shouted.

"That's _it_," shouted Quint. "Grab the fucker!"

Snape gripped her arm and twisted as he was pulled backwards off her.

He dragged her three feet before she got her legs under her. When she stood up, it was to see Quint with Snape's pistol shoved in his face. "Drop it or die," Snape said in a soft voice. "Your choice."

Quint stepped back, dropping the heavy sword in his hand. George held on to his. He was looking at Snape with a speculative eye. "Those things only have six bullets, right?"

"No!" Hermione yelled, trying to step between them until Snape jerked her back. "You can't trust the movies. It's a different kind of gun. Please. Don't do anything stupid."

"That's good advice," another voice drawled.

Snape whirled around, and Hermione screamed as he squeezed off a shot. Caleb Lloyt watched with bemusement as the man who'd been standing just in front of him pitched forward onto his face. Hermione moaned in fear as more people stepped out of the surrounding woods, there had to be nearly twenty.

"Interesting toy you have there, Snape," Caleb drawled. Hermione could barely hear him over the ringing in her ears. "A bit Muggle for a Death Eater and a bit uncivilized for an Englishman, but then, you were never as pure as you pretended to be."

Snape fired another shot, but Lloyt was already moving so the bullet only grazed his arm. He grunted and fell to one knee, clutching his arm as four of his people raised crossbows. Caleb stood up, grimacing in pain.

"And to think, at just that moment I was wasting my time wondering if it was somehow worth letting you live." He leaned over and spat. "You always were a pain in my arse, Snape. I'm going to enjoy watching you—"

George hissed in a shocked breath as Snape pressed the gun to the side of Hermione's head.

"It's all in here, Lloyt," Snape said in a calm voice. "How to reach it and how to bend it to your will. She's burned all the other notes in existence and there's no way to retrieve the tablets now. If I'm going to die, I'll die making sure you fail first."

Caleb sneered and gestured for his people to lower their weapons. "Miss Hermione Granger," he said, looking her up and down. "Not exactly the site for sore eyes I might've led you to believe."

Caleb took several steps closer but stopped when Snape shoved the gun harder against her temple, forcing her head to the side.

"I warned you, didn't I? Snape _always_ breaks his toys. Lily Evans dead, Gertie Elgen abandoned to walk the streets… If you'd have stuck with me, none of this would've happened. How many friends have you killed by being stubborn?" he asked. "We found the rest of your friends in the woods you know. I admit they did a good job, picking us off here and there, but we found them in the end. I have to say, Weasley the Elder surprised me. I'd always thought he was a bit of a Hufflepuff, but he faced it better than his Auror son. That poor sod went to pieces." He looked over at George. "Looks like it's open season on gingers. You'll make the fifth we've bagged. You have your little friend here to thank."

George let out a low moan of pain, and Hermione would have collapsed, but Snape's grip held her up.

"I didn't kill them," Hermione croaked, unable to stop weeping. "You did."

Caleb shook his head in mock sadness. "No, it really _is_ your entire fault. I know your theories about me, Mary kept me well informed, but you had one little thing wrong. I didn't see the future and know an event was coming. I'd hoped one was coming, sure, but I didn't _know_ one was coming until your prophecy turned up." He shrugged. "She lied a little bit about the dates. It actually appeared right after you trashed my Time Room. However, since she was the Head of the Department of Mysteries, fixing paperwork was her specialty."

Caleb waved a hand in the air. "So you see, none of this would have happened if not for you. I would never have taken the job in that wretched department. Sparrow, Thackeray, and Pepperton would never have grown suspicious, and I wouldn't have had to bide my time, wondering when I was going to have to start romancing a homely, little swot with horrifying hair."

Hermione blinked as Snape's hand tightened slightly on her arm and a little growl escaped his throat. For some completely irrational reason, this made her step closer to him. Snape used her movement to start his own, turning her until they were both moving backwards, away from the tent.

"So what are we going to do, Snape?" Caleb said following them slowly. "Are you going to walk backwards the whole way? With all of us following you? What are we dealing with, two miles? Three? Philips was a little vague. Turns out you _can_ dither a bit on Veritaserum. He left off a few decimal places on his coordinates. My people have been running in circles all over this place, and we still haven't found the crystal. In fact, we wouldn't have even found you, if it hadn't been for your little lover's quarrel. You must be losing your touch, Snape. Gertie once told me you were the best, but it seems you're having a little trouble keeping your women in line these days."

Hermione felt the muzzle of the gun slide across her skin as Snape flicked it towards Lloyt and fired off another shot. Again, Lloyt moved in time, diving to the side and coming away with only a glancing wound to his thigh. The ringing in her ears turned almost deafening.

"How many more scars do you want me to give you, Lloyt?" Snape drawled. "You know I'll eventually get tired of playing with you. Just like last time."

For the first time, Lloyt's confidence seemed to waver. His face contorted with rage, and he snarled. "Here's the thing, Snape. I'm thinking that crystal is out there somewhere, and it'll still be out there when Granger's dead. She's destined to _fail_, remember? I'm willing to take my chance that I can bend that fucking crystal to my will all on my own. After all, I used to do unspeakable things with time…"

She exchanged a look with Quint and George, and they both just stared at her, all hope gone from their eyes.

"But did time ever have an affinity for you?" she asked, knowing she was nearly shouting over the ringing in her ears.

Lloyt tilted his head. "What are you on about?"

"Time doesn't punish those who are doing it a service," she said. "I don't think time ever liked you very much, Mr. Lloyt."

"Granger, why don't you shut up before I let Snape blow your head off."

"I've known I was going to die from the start. I don't care if Severus shoots me. I'm not going to tell him what he wants to know either."

"Then you're useless. Kill them both."

Several people raised their weapons but an older, Asian man barked an order, and they lowered them again. The man snarled at Caleb in French with a thick, Chinese inflection. Hermione had no idea what he was saying, but it was plain Lloyt did and wasn't happy to hear it. He winced as he adjusted his injured arm.

"New deal, Snape. Listen closely. I'll give you five minutes to get a head start, and then we're coming after you. My friend, Mr. Han, thinks it's too soon to kill her. Me? I think she'll _make_ you kill her. Granger doesn't seem to care much for living anymore, and she's an annoying little bitch. So go. Give it your best _shot_."

Snape pulled on Hermione's arm, dragging her backwards out of the clearing. Quint grabbed his sword from the ground and took a step to follow, just as Lloyt barked, "Someone kill these other two and find me some bandages."

"_NO!_" She struggled and almost broke Snape's hold as several people, wielding a motley collection of swords, closed in on Quint and George. "I'll tell you whatever you want to know! Just don't kill them!"

"Hermione, _don't!_" shouted Quint.

Next to him, George shook his head slowly and turned his eyes to Snape. Giving him a lopsided smile, he said, "Tell Fred to duck this time." He lifted his sword and launched himself at the nearest captor. Quint threw himself into the fight with a roar, and Hermione screamed her throat raw as the others began to converge on them.

Snape opened fire, wrapping an arm around her like a steel band and crushing her to him as he methodically picked them off. Caleb flung himself into the trees behind the tent as his people began to panic and scatter into the trees.

She finally stopped screaming when Snape' gun gave a hollow click, and he lowered his arm. The clearing was empty of everyone but the dead and dying.

Quint pulled his sword out of a man's bowels and staggered, looking around for his next target. George was on the ground, staring up at the sky with lifeless eyes. Hermione began a long, low moan that seemed to come from somewhere outside her body. She elbowed Snape in the gut and broke away, running to Quint, who had sunk to his knees. Blood was pouring from a gash on the side of his neck, and she could see more seeping from his clothes.

She dropped to the ground before him. "Can you make it?" she cried.

He gave her a small, lopsided smile. "Yeah. Just help me to my feet."

She stood and grabbed him under the arms, but he didn't move. He kept blinking and then looked down at his leg. His trousers were turning bright red, and her eyes widened as the sword dropped from his hands. "I might need a rest," he said.

She grabbed him around the chest. "Quint, you have to get up. I need you. I _need_ you!"

She jumped as Snape clubbed Quint in the head with the butt of his pistol, knocking him unconscious. "You don't need him," he spat. "He'll only slow us down."

Quint's weight grew too much for her. She fell to her knees before he slipped out of her arms, sprawling into the churned up snow and mud.

"You _bastard!_ We can't leave him! He'll die if we leave him here!"

Snape reached down and dug his fingers into her arm, jerking her to her feet. "There's still eight people out there, including Lloyt. _Everyone_ will die if you don't move."

She turned to him, shaking with rage. "You're _despicable_," she spat.

He scowled at her. "And this is news because…?" he drawled, shoving her towards the field beyond the trees.

With a wail of pain and grief, she took off through the last of the trees with Snape clutching her elbow. Together they raced off across the open land as the gloom of the evening settled toward night.

:

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><p>:<p>

*ducks and runs*


	35. Chapter 35

**AN**: Due to overwhelming demand (and Hebe GB's awesomeness,) I'm giving you the next chap early. That should teach you a lesson...

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><p>Hermione ran. She was blind with grief and rage and the all-encompassing shock of Snape's betrayal. She couldn't tap the bottom of it. The pain seemed endless, like a fast-growing cancer that had metastasized into her soul. Where they <em>all <em>dead? Harry and Ron as well? Caleb had said five gingers. They had to be. And Quint, was he quietly bleeding to death behind her? Her grief wouldn't give her a moment's pause. She couldn't think of what to do next because she was trapped in her horror.

Her boot went through the layer of wet snow and caught on one of the low scrubby shrubs buried underneath. She went down with a cry as Snape nearly yanked her arm out of its socket.

"Be _silent!_" he hissed. "Get up! You have to run!"

She stumbled to her feet, feeling cold air against her leg, and looked down to see she'd torn the knee out of her trousers. Snape was already pulling her again, and she pushed herself to try and keep up. When she finally looked around, she jerked her arm back and stopped. "We're going the wrong way," she said, looking at the approaching tree line.

"I know that," he snapped. "_Move_."

She looked behind them and realized they'd made a wide circle around one of the low hills and were reentering the forest farther west. "They'll see our footprints," she said, stumbling after him again.

"That's the point."

"I don't understand…"

He heaved a sigh, managing to twist it into eloquent impatience. "I need to even the odds, Granger. If you hadn't noticed, we're outnumbered."

She shook her head as he dragged her into the sparse tree line. "_You're_ outnumbered. I'm already dead."

He jerked her to a stop. "You are _not_ going to die!"

"As if you care," she said, with less force than she felt.

A low growl escaped his throat. "Don't you understand yet? No one's really _dead!_ I can _fix_ this! I can fix _everything!_"

_That_ brought her brain to a screeching halt. She blinked, stunned by the intensity of his reaction. He scowled and jerked her into motion again. They hurried along a game trail and then he cut to the east into the underbrush. He aimed for the densest cluster of shrubs and forced his way through, pushing her down until she was sitting on a bent branch. He huddled next to her and pulled out his pistol. She heard him pull out the magazine and snap a new one into place. Gods, it sounded just like the movies.

"You will stay here. You will stay down. And you will stay silent. Do you understand?" he intoned. "If you move about, you run the risk of me shooting you dead, which would be pointless. If you attract their attention and they capture you, then I've nothing further to gain and will shoot you for spite. Are we clear?"

She stared at him, his face pale in the increasing dark. "Why are you doing this?" she whispered.

He sneered at her and tugged his hood up over his head, making himself only a shadow. "I already told you why," he replied before he backed out of her hiding place and left her alone.

Hermione listened to the sound of his receding footsteps until the forest went silent around her. It didn't take long; stalking had been Snape's favorite game when she'd been his student. It was obvious that he still played it well.

She crouched down, shifting carefully off of the low branch. It would be just her luck that it would snap under her weight at the wrong moment. She found a position that was more or less comfortable, sitting on her bum and hugging her knees, and went as still as possible, carefully regulating her breathing.

It seemed like an age had passed before she finally heard them coming. They made no attempt at stealth, blundering into the woods like a pack of baying hounds. The first shots came from farther away than she'd expected. Two quick blasts echoed through the trees, followed by screams of surprise and pain. Hermione listened to the shouts, hearing the Chinese man, Han's, rising above the others. Another shot brought another scream, and then the hunt began in earnest.

Hermione pressed her face to her knees, trying to breathe as quietly as she could. The next shot came from farther yet, a single shot, a single surprised yelp. She visualized his movements, counting the shots, counting the screams. Occasionally, he missed.

Her mind whirled in useless circles, finally settling on the most trivial thing to wonder at. How was he so good? Buying a gun, didn't automatically make someone a crack shot. How often would he have had to practice with it to be this deadly? Why the hell had he learned to shoot at all? What kind of Death Eater uses a bloody pistol?

She remembered his comment about getting the gun over twenty years ago in a fit of paranoia and knew the answer. A scared one. Snape had to have been nearly irrational with fear in the final days before Voldemort fell, working as a double agent to keep his true love alive. A gun was a strange choice for security, magic tended to make Muggle inventions unreliable, and bringing a gun to a wand fight might have sounded like a good idea in theory, but the reality was more likely to be a missing hand when the pistol misfired.

However, this _wasn't_ a wand fight. Snape had brought a gun to a _knife_ fight, and the outcome seemed to be preordained. Twice her heart had stopped when someone had cried, "We got him!" until she'd heard another shot from a new direction. Her ears told her he was winning the war of attrition. There were fewer people rushing through the forest and more people lying on the cold ground moaning or crying out for medical attention. Too close, a man's voice called out to a partner. His reply was the crack of a gun. Hermione sank her teeth into her lip as the man moaned and cried out for his mother in Bulgarian ten feet away from her. It seemed to take forever for him to fall silent.

The last scream wasn't preceded by a gunshot. The silence had seemed to press down on her and then the air was split with a shrill cry that was cut off quickly.

Hermione nearly bit through her lip, too scared to even cry. If Snape was dead, then she'd truly failed. He might have been corrupted by the crystal, but he was still rational enough to try and persuade. He was the last, viable Saoshyant candidate, and she had to try and make him see.

Her legs were numb, her throat was raw, and her bladder was screaming by the time she heard footsteps approaching her hiding place. She closed her eyes and tried to stop her shaking as the fear pressed down on her.

"You can come out now." Snape's voice was subdued, but it was his for sure. She opened her eyes and shuddered, feeling the terror begin to fade. She sucked in several calming breaths, trying to get a grip on herself.

"Hermione?" This time his voice was full of fear. She'd taken too long to respond.

"I'm okay," she called quietly. "Are you sure it's safe?"

"As sure as I can be."

"Then give me a moment. I really need to pee."

She heard his snort as she fumbled with the button of her trousers. When she'd finished her business, she crawled out of the bushes and struggled to a stand. Snape grabbed her arm and pulled her up, and she hissed in pain. He let go of her quickly. "Are you hurt?"

"You nearly ripped my arm out of the socket with all your pulling before," she snarled at him in a low voice. "If you insist on dragging me some more, at least use the other one."

He swore quietly and nudged her forward, gesturing with the sword in his hand. "We need to go. I haven't found Lloyt's body."

"Bloody hell. I was hoping you got him."

"So was I."

"Shouldn't we stay until you do?"

"I'm out of bullets, and I'm crap with a sword. If I'd known I would be running through the forest with a bunch of bloody corsairs, I would have brought Malfoy and his foppish rapier."

"Would you have trusted him?"

"No, but I'd have saved him an extra bullet. Let's go."

"Can I ask you a question?" she whispered, following him out from under the trees.

"Could I stop you?" he snapped.

She huffed. "How did you learn to shoot so well?"

He snorted. "_That's_ your first question? It's a pistol, Granger. You point it and squeeze the bloody trigger. If it's big enough, you only have to squeeze once."

Rolling her eyes, she snapped, "I know that. But that doesn't account for your aim. You must have practiced a lot to be so good in the dark."

He snarled under his breath. "You know? That was always one of the things I detested about Potter and your entire generation. You all use magic like a cudgel. None of you ever bothered to understand the subtleties. I learned to aim from dueling with _magic_. Aiming is aiming. Once you learn to adjust for the kick, the rules are the same. The eye is the same. The end result, sadly, is not the same. There is no finesse in blowing someone's brains out of the back of their skull."

"Oh, I absolutely agree. An Entrail-Expelling Curse is so much more _civilized_."

He was quiet for a moment and then said, "Your point is well taken. However, you must admit that an Avada Kadavra is a cleaner death than lying on the ground screaming for your mum."

"No. It's just quieter. In the end, you foul yourself just the same."

He was silent after that. They made their way across the open field and back into the low hills. Snape kept pivoting around, looking for anyone following, but it was hard to be sure of anything in the darkness.

They trudged slowly over and around the low hills, struggling in the snow and fighting for footing on the slippery rocks. It would have been treacherous enough even if it hadn't been fully dark. The land resembled an enormous crinkled bedsheet, folding up and down in increasingly higher hills. Some were small enough that going around presented no obstacle. Most were steeply sloped, but nothing the two of them couldn't deal with. Beyond this ridge, they grew taller, with crags and steeper grades. Climbing them while exhausted would be dangerous.

"Are you sure of where we're going?" he asked, as they came around yet another hill.

She nodded and pointed to the northwest where a soft glow could be seen on the horizon. She'd been looking at it for the last twenty minutes. Her first impression had been that the glow was from the lights of a village over the hill, but then the truth had hit her.

"It that it?" he whispered.

"It is. The closer I get, the farther out of the earth it emerges. That's why it was so important for me to survive. If I didn't reach the crystal, it would have stayed hidden underground until it exploded. Now that it's surfaced, it will glow brighter as I approach."

"Why you?"

She snorted. "I've been asking myself that since I got that bloody promotion." She stomped past him and kept going.

Head down and legs moving, she started up the next slope. Her sore shoulder gave her problems, and she slipped at one point, but Severus was right there, catching her by the hips and holding her steady as she regained her footing. They reached the top—this particular hill had more of a level peak than the narrow ridge of the others—and Hermione signaled for rest. They dropped down into the snow, huffing for breath and rubbing their tired legs. Snape had cut a hole in his cloak and the hilt of his stolen sword poked through it, gleaming in the pale light. Across from them, they could see the next hill was crowned with the bright pink glow.

Severus closed his eyes and sighed.

"You have to fight it," she said softly.

His eyes snapped open, and he stared back at her over his shoulder. "Fight what?"

"You wouldn't be doing this if the crystal wasn't affecting you. You have to fight it. The negative forces prey on your baser motivations. You _can't_ fix everything. You can only change everything."

His brows snapped down, and he looked away. "Changing it _is_ fixing it."

She grimaced and shook her head, "No, it's not. You can save her, but that won't make her love you."

Growling, he scrambled back to his feet and whirled around to face her, his cloak flaring. "Am I _that _pathetic to you? Do you really think this is just about _Lily_?" He flung his arms out. "I _know_ she won't love me, but that doesn't mean she should be _dead!_"

She slowly rose to her feet and faced him. "She should be dead because she _died_, don't you see? You shouldn't change history. That's what this test is all about!"

His face twisted into scorn and anger. "You're a fine one to talk. Did you, or did you not use a bloody time-turner to save Black's precious hide? And that flea-bitten hippogriff as well! How dare you sit here and tell me that the people I care about are worth _less!_"

"Two hours!" she cried. "I changed two hours when I was little more than a _child!_ You'd be changing everything! My entire life! You can't do this!"

He flung up his hands and shook his head. "Granger, think of all the lives that have weighed you down in the last few months! How much has it hurt you that people have been _willing_ to die for you? What if they hadn't been? What if they'd begged you to _save _them? What if your Iranian Unspeakable had stared at you with pleading eyes and called you friend? What if you'd had to look _bored_ as you watched your precious Urquhart be eaten by_ a fucking snake_? Have you _any _concept of what I've been living with? It's not just about _Lily_. I can save Molly's brothers and Longbottom's parents as well. Tonks and her mangy husband! I could save Albus, and Charity, and all the students that died in the final battle. So many…" He shook his head and held his hands out to her, imploring her to understand. "Your friends aren't really dead! This reality never has to come to pass! I can fix _everything!_ "

"No, you _can't!_" she said. "You can only _change_ it! It won't be fixed, it will be _different_. How can you not see this? If you change even the last year, you will erase the good with the bad. I'll never know Farzeen. I wouldn't know how much his loss hurts, because I wouldn't know he _existed_. Yes, I wouldn't have the opportunity to humiliate myself in front of you, but I'd never…" She swallowed around the lump in her throat. "I'd never get to kiss you either. And until you showed your true colors, that had been my favorite memory from this entire _year_."

His face twisted into a mask of grief. "But you still _will_, don't you see? Nothing I've done to get here will have mattered. I can save them _all_ and then…" Her heart broke as he raised a hand and touched her cheek with his cold glove. "And then I can wait for you," he said in a whisper, "and I'd deserve your kiss…"

His words were like a knife in the gut. She pressed her hands to her lips and shook her head. "Oh, Severus. Oh, _gods_." The emotions battering at her were so bitter that she doubled over and moaned. "You're wrong. You won't be waiting for me. You won't even care about me at all."

"But I _will_," he hissed.

She shook her head, straightening up. "Would you have stayed a teacher if Lily hadn't died? Would you have ever even met me?" She scrubbed at her face. "I'll be _nothing_ to you. Once you let go of the crystal, you'll vanish. The person you are now will be erased, along with everything else you've changed. If you go back to when you think it all started to go wrong, you will simply start living your life over from that moment on."

His eyes widened, and he backed away. "But…"

She followed him. "There are no 'buts.' This isn't a case of you going back and starting over, knowing what you know now. It's just a reset. Only the crystal can withstand the time shift and the forces involved shatter it." She grabbed his arm and squeezed. "You have to listen to me, I'm telling you the truth. You're my last chance to ensure the right choice is made. The crystal is a test of humanity's selfishness. The farther back you go, the more lives you save, but the more you _erase_ as well. Children born from the tragedy you lived through won't ever be born. Evil people vanquished through Lily's sacrifice would still need to be vanquished. Lily could still die in the fight. Do you think she was the type to stand by and watch? It will all be different, not _better_. Sure, you could tell your younger self of your own fate, but how much can you tell before the crystal grows too heavy to hold? And what makes you think you'd listen? Do you really think that if you tell yourself that Lily will die, he's going to care about some other woman that's not even _born_ yet?" She saw him wavering and pressed onward. "You _can't _do this! You can only go back a short time. The farther back you go, the more damage you do."

She stepped closer and held her hand to his cheek. "The people you've lost are gone, Severus. They're gone forever. The crystal has made your grief irrational. _Think_. If you remove Lily from danger, then you won't become the person you are now. The person that I loved. You might not ever rise above the thing inside you that made you want to join them to begin with…"

His eyes widened and for a moment she knew she'd won, but then the madness returned. He jerked back, slapping her hand away. "You're wrong!" He stepped away further and his eyes fell into shadow. "You loved a _lie_, you didn't love _me_." He turned away from her and stormed off down the hill, snarling, "I can change that!"

Hermione watched him almost leaping down the hillside with his cloak flaring out behind him. She watched him hurry toward the light and knew she'd ruined her last chance. Swiping at the tears that ran down her face, she followed him because she could do nothing else.

Her grief weighed her down as she began to climb the final hill, dodging the snow and ice that rained down on her from his efforts to scale the steep slope. In places it was a sheer scramble onto jagged rocks covered in ice. Snape was heedless of his own safety and several times she feared he would plunge past her and break his neck. She needed him to make it. Even if he did reset time abusively, _someone_ had to use the crystal, or time would come to an end. It could have been worse, she thought. At least his selfish intentions were honorable. Caleb Lloyt would have twisted time for his own petty and selfish aims. Severus just wanted to stop a colossal tragedy and save lives.

She climbed, unable to sort out what she was feeling. The deaths of her friends wouldn't happen. Not in the same way, at least. Her entire childhood—the opening of the Chamber of Secrets, the terror of that day in the Department of Mysteries, the terrible victory at the Battle of Hogwarts—none of it would ever happen. Her friendship with Ron and Harry would never begin. They would go on thinking she was nothing more than an obnoxious swot because she would never have a chance to _be_ anything more than just an obnoxious swot. She didn't know how to feel about that.

And then there was Snape himself. She wouldn't miss him, because she wouldn't _know_ him. The pain she'd been lugging around like a boat anchor would simply vanish, most likely to be replaced by a future of painful lessons delivered by some other man. No one escapes life without at least one broken heart.

As she grabbed a rock and pulled herself higher, she looked up to see Severus's cloak disappearing over the top of the hill. Would he allow himself to finally move on? Or would the way the war played out this time leave him even more scared? She couldn't begin to understand what he'd lived with all these years. Her grief was terrible enough. She could see where his could drive him to madness like this.

She flattened her hand on the top of the hill and pulled herself up. As she scrambled to her feet, she looked around and blew out a breath.

The top of the hill looked like it had been leveled flat and punched through from below. The native rock had been thrust up in a crude circle, resembling ten-foot-tall fingers clawing at the sky around a core that blazed with a pinkish-white light. The spikes of standing stones threw dark shadows behind them. Light formed a dome over the crystal itself. Nested in amongst fist-sized clusters of duller, less-grand crystals of pale yellow sat the Crystal of Time. It was about eighteen inches long and roughly three inches in diameter, an elongated, hexagonal spike that sparkled like a pink diamond.

Snape was standing still, his pale face glowing from the light as she approached. "As beautiful as it is, it's a bit underwhelming, isn't it?" he said in a quiet voice.

"All goals can be a bit of a letdown when you reach them," she replied, turning away. She walked in a short arc around the edge of the hilltop. The northern face had been sheared away, forming a steep cliff that appeared as a chasm of blackness in the glare of the light.

"What do I do?" he asked.

She shrugged and turned back to him, folding her arms across her chest and leaning against one of the tall fingers of rock. "Visualize where you want time to move to and then grab it."

He did look at her then. "Hermione…" Scrunching his face into a mask of loss and grief, he slowly shook his head. "I know what you want me to do. I know why you want me to do it. I understand now that if I do this then you and I might never be. But we _could_ be. You loved me once." He shook his head again. "I'm not choosing Lily over you. You mean more to me than she ever did. But it's not just Lily, is it? And it's not just you and me. I have to stop myself from ever joining them. Stop the evil that I caused and all those deaths…" He gave her a pleading look. "I can stop the Dark Lord. I have a _plan_. I have to try..."

She gave him a broken smile and shrugged her shoulders slightly, feeling all the aches and pains of her body. "Do what you think is right, Severus. I already failed."

He scowled at her. "No, you haven't. You're here in once piece aren't you? I _am_ doing the right thing, even if you don't agree. You _haven't_ failed."

She shook her head. "Dying isn't my failure. I failed to keep my friends alive. I failed to control how the crystal is used, and I… I failed to trust your motives. Do what you need to do, Severus. Save your people. I can't stop you, and I'm no longer sure I should." She closed her eyes, feeling the tears slide down her cheeks, and turned her head away as he reached for the crystal. She hid her face in the dark shadow of the rock and tried to be brave.

"Why can't I touch it?" he asked after a moment. She opened her eyes and saw him trying to reach through the dome of light surrounding it. He pulled his gloved hand back, rubbing his fingers together, and turned a confused face to her. Pulling the gloves off, he tried again. "It's protected somehow."

"I know," she said.

"What must I do?"

She clamped her teeth down on her lip and struggled for a moment before she replied, "I have to die."

His eyes went wide, and his face drew back in shock and horror. His voice cracked as he moaned, "Hermione, _no_…" The horror escalated until he was doubled over, looking as if he was about to gag. "No! I can't! _Not that_."

"There's no way around it," she said. "As long as I live, you won't be able to touch it. It's the final test."

"Thank you. I do believe that's all I needed to know." Hermione twisted at the sound of Caleb's voice and doubled over as he punched her in the stomach. "Oh, look! I passed a test."

She groaned from the pain as he stepped out from the shadows.

He shoved at her dismissively. "So, Mr. Snape. Who's it going to be? Not that the end is in doubt, since you're apparently out of bullets and crap with a sword…"

Hermione fell against the rock and slid down as the pain in her stomach intensified. She clawed at her belly, her shock deepening as she felt the dagger handle. She lifted a bloody hand and turned to Severus, blinking in confusion. His roar of unmitigated fury echoed across the hills as she sagged to her knees. She saw him draw his sword, slicing through his cloak, and throw himself at Caleb. The air filled with the clanging sound of metal on metal.

Despite the sounds of fighting she couldn't seem to pay heed to anything but the knife in her gut. Should she pull it out? Or would that just make her die faster? Would that be better? No. Better to wait to see who triumphs. But what difference would that make? She had no control of the outcome now. In fact, she doubted if she ever had any control from the start.

Realizing she was in shock, she tried to force herself back into the moment. Gut wounds weren't the fastest way to die. The fool would have done better to have cut her throat. She could still move. Breathing hurt like hell because it tugged on the knife when she did.

Turning her head slowly, she saw Caleb swing a rectangular-shaped sword down at Severus's head. He parried, and his sword shattered from the blow, driving a shard of metal into his shoulder. The hilt went skittering toward the cliff edge, and as Caleb tracked it, Severus kicked his legs out from under him. As Caleb flailed, Severus threw himself at him, carrying him down with his hands around his throat. He looked insane as he began bashing Lloyt's head against the rocky ground. Caleb hacked at him with his sword, but with Snape's knee on his arm, he couldn't seem to be get enough swing to do as much damage as he intended. Severus ignored the blows in favor of trying to choke Caleb to death.

As his long fingers squeezed Caleb's throat, his face was drawn back into a rictus of hate, and his eyes seemed to bulge from their sockets. Caleb dropped his sword and began clawing at his neck with one hand, grabbing the shard of metal and twisting it into Snape's shoulder with the other. He planted his feet and bucked. Severus lost his grip and was flung off. He rolled several times and came up with the sword. The other man backed away, picking up the broken sword.

A reflection caught her eye, and she turned to see an expanding pool of blood around Severus' left foot. Seeing the rents in his cloak, she realized that Caleb's sword _had_ cut him—_deeply_, by the amount of blood he was losing. Caleb swung his broken sword a few times, testing the balance and Hermione could see he was hurt as well. The bullet wounds were obviously paining him, costing him movement, and he twisted his neck experimentally. The hair on the back of his head was matted with blood.

She began to push herself to her feet, leaning against the finger of stone behind her and straightening her legs.

"Give it up, Snape," Caleb called in a rasping voice. "You can't change time the way you want. You're thinking too big. If you try to kill your Dark Lord, he'll just slap you down like the gnat you always were."

"As if you're not planning to go back and have a little chat with your great-great-grandfather and talk him out of a certain foolish bit of charity," Severus said with a sneer.

"You're wrong there, old chap. I'm not going back farther than thirty seconds. I don't _want_ to change the present. Unlike you, I've always rather _liked _who I was. No. I just want the crystal, or rather, the sands when it shatters. Look at it. There must be over thirty pounds of chronominium there, and it will all be mine."

Snape grunted and Hermione saw he was now standing in a terrifyingly large puddle of his own blood. At this rate, he would die before she did. Lloyt noticed it too and began to laugh. "Oh, victory is mine. I've already killed you. You're just too stubborn to die." He danced out of the way as Severus swung at him. It was plain there was no strength behind the effort.

"You were almost a worthy opponent, Snape. And I am grateful to you for ridding me of nearly all of my investors. For that, I do give you my most heart-felt gratitude."

Hermione bunched her legs under her and took as deep a breath as she could muster. Her lack of mass had ever been her downfall, but she'd always had leverage, speed, and ruthless surprise on her side.

As Caleb swept his arm across his chest in a mocking bow, Severus threw himself towards him, raising his sword with the last of his strength. Caleb taunted him, dancing out of the way, and Hermione launched herself at the bastard before he could recover his balance. He saw her and twisted, swinging his weapon up. She ignored it and slammed into him. The impact drove the broken blade between her ribs, scrapping bone as she threw her arms around his chest and locked her hands together. The impact twisted them around as she clung to him with all her strength.

"Get off!" Caleb shouted as her momentum carried them close to the edge. He shoved at her, but her strength seemed limitless. She didn't even feel the pain anymore as she planted her feet and lunged backwards, allowing Caleb's weight to do the rest.

Severus was right there, clawing at her sleeves to stop her fall.

"No."

Horror stretched his features as his bloody hands slipped across the slick fabric of her Muggle coat.

"No!"

Their eyes locked on each other for a fleeting moment as she hurtled out into empty space, but the cliff edge rose up too soon and obscured his shattered expression.

"_NO!_"

Severus Snape bellowed like an injured bull, and Caleb Lloyt screamed like a little girl as Hermione carried him down to their death.

:

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><p>:<p>

o.O


	36. Chapter 36

**AN:** This chapter is dedicated to all the reviewers who can't sign in, so I can't reply. And also to those that have blocked PMs. *koff* Plumbum *koff* I love all your reviews and comments.

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><p>Ron snorted. "Yeah. I think the same thing. I mean, I love you, right? And you're beautiful and smart and sexy as hell. But, Christ, you can bore me to tears some days."<p>

The sound she made trying to smother the laugh that wanted to escape was reminiscent of a donkey with a sore throat. "I know!" she replied in the best whisper she could muster while giggling. "You do such a bad job of hiding it! I'll be in the middle of saying something and see your eyes. It's almost amazing. You'll be listening so intently… and then your eyes will go out of focus, and your hand will rub your stomach, and I know you're thinking about dinner!"

He laughed and bumped her. "Not always. Sometimes I'm thinking—"

"Granger," Quint called. "You need to get out here."

Ron put his hand on her shoulder. "What is it?" he called back.

It was George who replied. "We have a visitor."

"What the hell?" Ron said, struggling out of his sleeping bag.

Pulling her wand out from under her crude pillow, Hermione shoved it in her sleeve and grabbed for her boots, ramming her feet into them without bothering to lace them. Grabbing her jumper, she crawled out of the tent in her long underwear.

Ginny was just crawling out of her tent, and Harry was right on her heels. Quint jerked his thumb behind him and Hermione almost missed the figure standing in the dark at the edge of their camp. Only his pale face could be seen.

"Severus?" She shoved her arms in the sleeves of her jumper and pulled it on over her head as she approached him. He smelled of sweat and earth and blood. "What are you doing here?" she asked in a quiet voice, trying not to broadcast how happy she was to see him. They hadn't left each other on good terms.

"I've come to give you a warning. Caleb Lloyt is here with his syndicate. By morning, they will have found you. You need to send a Patronus to Arthur, William, and Neville straight away. They're trailing Lloyt's patrols, trying to slow them down for you, but by tomorrow they'll all be dead. I recommend having them meet at your original coordinates. That's where we arrived yesterday evening."

Her half-asleep brain couldn't process what he was saying until she keyed in on one sentence. _'By tomorrow, they will all be dead.'_ Not, they_ might_, nor they_ could_. They_ will_. As in, _they already were_. Her heart started to pound with excitement.

"It's over, isn't it?" she whispered.

Staring at her with an almost frightening intensity, he lifted his left hand out from the fold of his robes and nodded silently. The others gasped as they saw him holding a crystal spike, about eighteen inches long and three inches in diameter. It was clear, with the palest pink tinge glowing in its heart, causing it to glitter like a diamond, even in the darkness.

"You did it…" she said in an awed whisper. She gave him a small smile, feeling overwhelmed and confused. How had he done it? She hadn't had a chance to tell him anything he'd needed to know.

She shook her head at her foolishness. Obviously she'd told him. She just hadn't told him _yet_.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw three steaks of light darting off into the trees, scattering in three different directions. She turned and saw her friends holding their wands with varying degrees of joy. She pulled hers out of her sleeve and cast a warming charm on the man before her, receiving a grateful sigh as she felt another flow over her from someone behind her.

"I need a receptacle for the sands," he said. "When I let go, the crystal will shatter."

"I'll find something," Ginny replied, heading for her tent.

"And I need a smaller vessel as well. One that can also be sealed."

Ginny nodded and crawled inside.

Snape never took his eyes off of Hermione. He stared at her in a way that sent shivers along her skin. She cleared her throat and raked her hand through her hair. "What made you come back to _this_ moment?"

In the blink of an eye, his expression turned so sad that she wanted to reach out to him, but the memory of his anger at her betrayal held her back. He closed his eyes. "You didn't want me to go back too far," he said.

"How far back did you come?"

"Less than eighteen hours."

"Oh, that's good! I mean, that's far better than what most people would have chosen." She smiled up at him. "I should have known I could count on you."

He made a small, anguished sound and looked away. "I'm glad you think so."

Biting her lip, she asked him the question that had been gnawing at her confidence since she'd read the translated texts. "Did… did I die well? Was I brave?"

His face crumpled like paper, and her eyes went wide at the strangled sob that escaped him. "Like a fucking Gryffindor," he rasped in a hoarse voice.

"Oh, Severus…" She reached out and grabbed his shoulder. He hissed, and she pulled her hand back, staring in shock at the dark, sticky splotch on her palm. The pale light of the cloudy night leeched the color away, but she knew blood when she saw it. "You're hurt!"

He shook his head. "I've tended the worst. This shouldn't take much longer."

She heard footsteps approach and Ginny walked up. Beyond her, the others were striking camp quickly.

"Will these do, Professor? I didn't have anything large enough, so I just charmed this one." She held up a regular water bottle and another that had been enlarged to hold about a gallon.

"They should be fine, Miss Weasley. If you will just give them to Miss Granger, I won't be much longer."

Hermione took the bottles and exchanged a look with Ginny. "I'll find you some trousers," Ginny murmured, turning away and leaving them alone.

"If you would open the smaller bottle please," he said.

"Of course." She fumbled with them until she'd set the one down and was holding out the other. She watched as he lifted his wand to his head and removed a surprisingly thick strand of memory. He slipped it into the bottle, and she capped it.

"If this remains when I'm gone, I would ask you to give it to me when you see me again," he said with stiff formality.

"Absolutely." She capped it and held it tightly in both of her hands. She stepped closer to him, worried and more than a little frightened by his manner and the intense way he was staring at her.

He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again with a slight shake of his head. Crouching down, he gestured to the neck of the larger bottle. Hermione shoved his memory under her arm and knelt down on the cold, wet ground to uncap it for him. He slid the crystal in, holding onto only the last few inches. His head came up, and he looked at her with an incredible pain in his eyes. She heard him swallow. "I'm out there as well," he said. "I would appreciate it if you didn't leave me wandering around Argentina."

She bobbed her head like a fool. "I promise. I'll go find you now…"

"You should also know that Lloyt didn't want to change time. He wanted the sand. He will still be a danger, even now. You should finish him off while you know where he is."

"I understand."

They both turned as a glowing lion stalked into the campsite and surveyed them regally before opening its mouth in a silent roar. "Message received," Neville's voice announced. "I'll see you at the start."

A weasel scampered in as the other Patronus faded. "Bill and I are on our way. See you shortly," it said in Arthur's voice before it faded away.

Hermione turned at the sound of Severus's relieved breath. "You thought they might already be dead," she said in a quiet voice. He nodded, and she smiled at him. "Of course they're alive. You're a hero. Saving people is what you do."

His face twisted up into an expression of what looked like revulsion as he stared down at the hand still clutching the crystal. He seemed to be unable to let go.

"Severus," she said softly, laying her hand on his. "It's all right. You're not dying, you're only forgetting the last eighteen hours. Think of it like an Obliviate."

His face spasmed, and he took a deep, shuddering breath. "May I ask you for something?" His voice was barely a whisper.

Wincing, she felt the sting of tears. "Anything," she whispered. "Severus, I would give you _anything_."

His eyes widened, and he gave her a tremulous smile. "Will you kiss me once more?" His voice broke on the last word, and she let out a small sob, nodding her head furiously as she leaned closer. Dropping his wand, he brought his hand up to her face. When their lips met, the slightest moan escaped his throat. The bottle with his memory fell to the ground as she slipped her arms around his neck. He slanted his lips across hers and deepened the kiss until she was dizzy with joy. She whimpered when he pulled away. Pressing his forehead to hers, he whispered, "Thank you."

She heard a clunk as the crystal hit the bottom of the bottle, and swayed on her knees as he winked out of existence without a sound. Her heart seemed to shatter as silently as the crystal, turning to dust as a cold wind skirled around her. She picked up the bottle with his memory in it, and gurgled a sob when she saw the silver thread had turned to dull ashes.

There was a crunch of leaves behind her and then Ron was there, picking the cap out of her hand and sealing the bottle of chronominium. He lifted her to her feet and hugged her. "Let's get your trousers on," he said quietly, Vanishing the mud from her knees.

She turned to see Ginny holding them out, along with her coat and gloves.

She dressed in a daze as the others began to shoulder their packs. Ron came back, holding hers out to her, but she shook her head. "He's still out there somewhere. I need to go find him."

Ron frowned. "No, we need to send him a Patronus and get the hell out of here."

Hermione backed away. "I promised!"

He shook his head furiously and lowered his voice, stepping close so she could hear him. "Hermione, I understand. I do. But we have to get you out of here. _That_ Snape," he jerked his head to where Severus had disappeared, "came to this moment for a reason. Let's not be stupid, alright? We only had one shot at resetting the world to keep you alive. With all the other choices that man could have made, he chose this one. Let's honor it."

She swallowed thickly and shuddered. "Yes, alright. That makes sense. I'm not thinking."

Ron nodded to Quint and in a moment, a silver bulldog was padding in a circle, sniffing the ground before shooting off through the trees.

"_Merlin_," George exclaimed. "Even his Patronus has a huge set."

"What can I say?" Quint answered in a smug voice.

Ron helped her into her pack and before long they were ready to Apparate back to their starting point. Just at that moment, another Patronus glided into the clearing. Snape's silvery-white doe lifted its head and they heard Snape's voice carry softly across the clearing. "_Understood._" Hermione's eyes widened at his tone. He sounded furious.

Quint, George and Ginny had already popped away, and Hermione was about to follow them, when the forest came alive with screams. She froze, sharing an alarmed look with Harry and Ron. "What the hell is that?" she hissed as Ron pointed to the southeast. Flashes of light could be seen for just a moment imprinting the surrounding trees on her retinas in sharp silhouette. The lights faded and the screaming stopped.

"Get out of here!" Harry said.

"No! He's alone!" she cried, starting to run in the direction of the lights. Just then there was another series of blood-curdling screams, these ones coming from due east. She pivoted in that direction. "What is he _doing? _We have to save him!"

She felt a body slam into her and then Ron snatched her up off her feet, pack and all, and twisted into a turn. Her shout was cut off as all the air was squeezed out of her lungs.

They landed in the field they'd arrived in and tumbled to the ground. It took her a moment to find enough air as Ron's weight crushed her. When he rolled off of her, he deftly took her wand with him. She pushed herself up onto her hands and knees and screeched, "What the hell were you thinking! You can't leave him!"

Harry dumped his pack on the ground and knelt by her. "It's too dangerous."

She looked up at the sound of footsteps, and saw Arthur, Bill and Neville rushing over with looks of concern. Ginny, George and Quint were staring at her in confused alarm.

"What happened?" Neville said, addressing Ron and gesturing to the two wands in Ron's fist.

"We're not sure," Ron answered. "I think Snape's gone mental."

"But shouldn't we go help him?" Arthur asked, his voice full of concern.

Harry shook his head as he helped Hermione to her feet and out of her heavy pack. "It's too dark. He wouldn't have any way of telling friend from foe. I'm not about to risk anyone's neck by going after a rampaging Death Eater in the dark." He turned to Bill. "Do you know where Lloyt and his group arrived?"

Bill nodded. "Snape found their trail quickly enough after we got here. They mustered about seven miles north of here. When they split into groups, we separated as well. We've been picking off stragglers all night. I think we've cut their numbers down to about thirty."

"How?" Quint asked.

"Guns," Arthur said holding up a pistol with a small amount of pride. "With _quieters!_ We stopped over in Derry, and Severus bought them from some _very _shady characters."

Harry nodded. "Clever. But could you not point it at anyone?"

"Oh, I'm out of bullets. It took me a while to get the hang of aiming, but I'm a crack shot now. You just have to adjust for the kick, you see."

Harry shook his head and turned to Bill. "Ginny and I will stay here with Hermione. The rest of you need to head to their starting location. If we thought of this one as a fallback, it stands to reason that they might as well. I want anyone that shows up arrested, but don't take any unnecessary chances. If you're outnumbered, come back here."

Ron handed Hermione's wand to Ginny with a grim look full of warning. In a moment, they had all Apparated away, travelling side-along with Neville, Arthur and Bill.

Ginny sighed and handed Hermione back her wand, waving off Harry's growl of protest. "Come sit down," she said, guiding her down onto one of the packs and sitting next to her.

Hermione folded herself up against her friend. "I don't understand," she whispered. "Why would he have taken them all on alone?"

Harry sighed and dragged another pack over until he was sitting facing her. "I think the reason's pretty obvious. He lost."

"Lost what?" she asked.

"His chance," Harry replied. "Hermione, the Snape in the campsite made a painful choice. You could see how much it hurt him, but it was his to make. The one out there has had his chance to make the same choice taken _away_. I think he's been working toward a single goal with an almost fanatical dedication for _weeks_, and suddenly his chance of success was snatched out from under him. I think Ron's right. He's snapped."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You're talking about your mum, aren't you?"

Harry nodded sadly. "'Betrayed on all sides' isn't particularly vague. Ron and I have been wondering about him all along. Even you questioned his motives once or twice. You have to admit, the two of you as a thing was a bit sudden, and, well, a bit strange. He had a more obvious motive than anyone. It was only his character that gave us pause. Questioning his loyalty after everything he'd gone through in the war seemed almost disrespectful, but…" Harry scrubbed his hand through his hair, making it stand straight up. "I was afraid that confronting you about him would have caused more harm than good. You seemed to have the situation in hand without us nagging you more than we already were."

She snorted. "I thought so at the time. I'm beginning to think I've been a colossal idiot about this entire affair."

"Nah, you haven't. We won, didn't we?" He gestured to the bottle of sand by Ginny's feet. "And Snape came through, just like he always does. Ron's theory was right."

"Which was?" Hermione said with a little too much bitterness.

"He decided that in the end, it would come down to how far under Snape's skin you got."

Her stomach roiled with all the conflicting emotions. Bitterness and worry were paramount. "He _did_ care about me," she said in a soft voice.

"Of course he did," Ginny said, hugging her against her shoulder. "I thought that was obvious."

Harry sighed. "The Snape that brought you the crystal was in love with you. Any idiot could see that. The man out there now?" He shook his head. "I think it's obvious his judgment is impaired. I'd be careful."

They fell silent after that. Hermione stared towards the northwest and sent a silent plea out into the ether. Fear made her heart thump painfully slowly as the minutes crawled by, and she wasn't sure her heart could take the strain of waiting.

It seemed like a lifetime passed before she heard a soft pop. She spun around as Harry and Ginny jumped up. Severus, looking tired and sweaty was holding his cloak out to the side, inspecting where the fabric had been sliced clean through.

"What happened?" she cried, running to him. "Are you hurt?"

He looked up at her with a frown that effectively killed her urge to throw her arms around him.

"It's done," he said. His manner was stiff and unyielding and he exuded a menacing cold.

"Done?" blurted Harry. "What do you mean, _done?_"

Snape held out three wands, clutching his own in his other hand. "Lloyt's dead," he replied in a dry voice as Harry took the wands. "Along with Han Feng, the leader if the Dawn Knife, Chilikov, their partner, and the most of the rest of them. You can do a Priori Incantatem for any evidence you need of their guilt."

"_Chilikov?_" Hermione blurted. "But—"

"He was leading the group I trailed earlier and was there of his own volition. I ensured he paid the price. A few got away, but they are inconsequential. If you cut the head off, the body dies. Urquhart's message said Lloyt was after the sand, not the crystal. Aside from Osterhoudt, he was the only one left alive that knew how to craft the equipment needed to use them." He turned and stared at Hermione. In the dark she couldn't see beyond the flat expression. "You're safe. The threat is eliminated."

Harry sighed and turned to send off a Patronus. Ginny lifted the bottled sands with a grunt and began shoving it into her expanded pack. Hermione looked back towards Severus to see him watching them with a growing sneer. When she stepped closer to him to tell him she was glad he was alright, he stood to his full height and glared down his nose at her. Her words choked off unsaid.

"So you didn't die after all," he said in a snide tone.

"Yes, I did," she said, stung by his flippancy. "I had no choice about that. No one could touch the crystal while I was still alive."

He jerked his head back at that, but his reaction was only momentary. He scowled darkly. "You seem to have recovered well enough. Which one of your merry band of do-gooders had the honor of saving the world?"

"_You_ did," she snapped holding up the water bottle. His face froze and then his mouth dropped open in dismay. "You brought me the crystal and asked me to give you this when I saw you next. Unfortunately the memory you put in it turned to ashes when you vanished."

He blinked several times shaking his head slightly. "That's not possible…"

"Because you were determined to save Lily instead?" she snapped. He gave her a startled look and she could almost feel his face flush with guilt. She slapped the bottle against his chest, angry, despite the fact that his tacit admission wasn't a surprise. "I don't know why you did what you did. You didn't tell me. You only had time to warn us we were in danger."

_And give me the sweetest kiss I've ever shared_, she thought in bitterness.

He clasped the bottle with both hands as his face twisted in open confusion. His body seemed to partially collapse from within. "I don't understand," he whispered, radiating such an intense amount of loss and grief that she felt like she was intruding just watching it.

She sighed softly, gesturing at the bottle. "Perhaps you can find a way to reconstitute your memory and find your answer. I hope it doesn't cause you more pain."

He looked from the bottle in his hands, to her, and then over to the remains of the crystal, looking lost and bewildered. After a moment, he gave her a defeated nod and stuffed the bottle into the satchel on his shoulder. He turned and walked away. Pulling something out of his pocket, he tapped it with his wand and warped out of sight.

Hermione was left standing there, feeling like saving the world wasn't as sweet as she'd have thought.

:

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><p>:<p>

So who guessed right?


	37. Chapter 37

**AN**: Sorry about the absolute lack of review replies. Note to noob writers. Do NOT get a wild hair and decide to rewrite your last chapter days before it's due to post. No matter how fantastic your Great New Idea is, it's still a crap idea. I give you the longest chapter in the whole fic, and I ask you to read it slowly while I scotch tape the ending back together.

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><p>Hermione tucked the loose curl back into her bun, raising her eyebrows and blowing out a breath at her reflection. It had taken her nearly two hours to dress for this occasion, and she was down to worrying about one too-short curl sending the wrong message. Up seemed too cold. Down was a bit too informal. She smoothed her hands down the front of her tailored robes, tucked her gold badge into her pocket, and slid her wand up her sleeve. Taking a step back, she decided it would have to do. Professional, yet pleasant, was what she'd been aiming for, and this was about the best she could do.<p>

She turned away from the mirror and headed out the door.

Harry met her as she was coming down the stairs. "Where are you off to? It's Saturday."

"I've a meeting," she said, pecking him on the cheek as she passed.

"At work?"

"_For_ work. It won't take long, and then I'll have my day off after all."

Harry gave her a speculative look. "You've been working nearly fourteen days straight. If you keep it up, you'll run yourself into the ground."

She smiled at his concern and headed for the door. "Relax, I'm taking a long weekend. Ron nagged me into it. Honestly, the two of you are a fantastic motivation to get my house fixed. It's like having two extra mothers."

"Can't you at least say two brothers? Or even fathers?"

She turned and looked back at him speculatively for a moment and then shook her head and walked on. "Nope. I stand by my word choice," she called over her shoulder.

"Remember, Quint's coming over to show us how to cook bangers and mash," he called. "Be home by tea."

"Yes, Mother."

With a laugh, she stepped out onto the doorstep of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Patting at her hair to make sure the curl stayed in place, she pulled her wand out. Narrowing her thoughts down to destination, determination, and indigestion, she popped away to Hogwarts.

Arriving at the gates, she checked her curl again and tapped the gate with her wand. It swung open on silent hinges and closed again behind her as she made her way up the path. Her stomach twisted into fresh knots, and she fretted nearly the entire way to the castle, but when she reached the main doors to the castle, a curious calm flowed over her and she knew she was doing the right thing.

She pushed the door open and sighed.

Severus was standing stiff as a statue just inside the door. He looked good. Better than good, really. He was dressed in his usual black robes, and his hair looked freshly trimmed, if still over long. His demeanor was what she'd expected, stiff and unyielding, with a sense of being poised on the edge of rage. She could tell he was assessing her in much the same way, and wondered what conclusions he drew from her appearance.

"Good morning, Severus."

"May I ask why you requested a meeting?" he asked. She could detect nothing from his tone but bored disinterest. That had been expected as well. The three weeks of silence since they'd returned from Tierra del Fuego had been an eloquent dissertation on his level of interest.

"I am sorry for the imposition. I understand it would be preferable to let sleeping dogs lie, however, there are a few official things that need to be cleared up."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Such as?"

She looked around at the empty entry hall. "Is there somewhere more private we could talk?"

His eyebrow rose even higher. "I suppose the teacher's lounge is available. The castle is not exactly empty, but those faculty members that are here hardly use it in the summer months."

She pursed her lips. Eloquent, indeed. "I think you might prefer somewhere private enough to ensure we're not disturbed."

He frowned at that, and she could see his mind racing toward possible conclusions. "Very well," he said, again, with no particular inflection. "Right this way."

He led her up the stairs and the sound of his boots seemed to echo endlessly in the emptiness. He surprised her when he passed through the DADA classroom and through his office as well. She found herself thrown a little when he led her into his private rooms and gestured to his settee. She chose to remain standing, walking over toward the fire because that's where she'd always felt most comfortable.

"Tea?"

"No, thank you. You're very kind, but this shouldn't take long."

"Then I will ask you to get to the point."

She sighed. "Do you remember when this all started that I was having a great deal of difficulty in finding any information at all?"

"I do."

"And I learned that all traces of the last event had been purposefully erased?"

"Granger, I have many flaws, but one cannot count among them a feeble mind. I remember everything. Get to the point."

She lifted her chin slightly. "I need to take your memories."

That caught him off guard. His eyes went wide as his brows flew up. One hand jerked up into the air, and he clutched it into a fist as he visibly struggled for calm.

"No one tinkers with my mind," he hissed.

She shook her head slowly. "It will be a light interference. The only memories I'll need are those related directly to the crystal. You will still remember that you were involved in an investigation pertaining to an event, and everything else involved, but you will be mistaken in what you believe the event pertained to. Ron and Harry believe we were tracking an artifact that ended up destroyed. I have been keeping to that fiction with everyone immediately involved. The only thing else I'll leave you with is a slight aversion toward wondering further about the entire chain of events. It will be less interesting to you than your last clothing purchase."

Again, she could see his mind churning, chasing down all the possible ramifications. His eyes darted to hers repeatedly, only to dart away again. His face flushed, and it was becoming apparent that he was growing more upset.

She sighed. "If you wish, I could remove any memories of us that you find particularly vexing."

"_No,_" he snapped. He stood up to his full height and crossed his arms over his chest. "I refuse."

With an apologetic wince, she reached into her pocket, pulling out her gold Unspeakable badge and handing it to him. "You have no choice," she replied softly. "The Obliviates are far more subtle with the subject's cooperation."

He stared at her badge as if it were poisonous. "When did this happen?" he asked, flicking a contemptuous hand at it.

"The day we all met in Kingsley's office. I'd intended to resign as soon as all of this was over, but I decided against it. I have an entire department to rebuild, and I've found I really do have an affinity with time. It's slow going. Abel has agreed to stay and share his knowledge, but we don't get much accomplished with only two people. However, others will come eventually."

He snorted. "I thought you weren't supposed to speak about such things."

"You won't remember when I leave."

His eyes went wide and then his brows snapped down. "I won't allow it."

She sighed. With the exception of Mary Worple in Azkaban, everyone else so far had been extremely cooperative. It had lulled her into a false sense of ease. She'd known he'd be difficult; she just hadn't accurately gauged the level of his stubbornness.

"Severus, if your concern is that I'll discover the depth of your duplicity then let me reassure you. I'm not feeble-minded either, and with these three weeks to reflect, I've figured an enormous amount out on my own. I know you were influenced by the negative aspect of the crystal, like everyone we were up against, but I also know that your motivations were nowhere near as selfish."

He closed his eyes and turned away, staring off into the empty grate of the fireplace.

"I don't blame you," she said. "Once I could take a step back, it wasn't hard to understand why you used me. You've mourned Lily for over twenty years. Yes, I'm still a bit hurt, no woman likes to find she's been used, but it's mostly injured pride and bruised heart. In the end, it doesn't matter. You made the right choice, despite your original motivations. As I said, if it would make it easier on you, I can remove any unpleasantness you don't wish to dwell on."

"No," he said again.

She huffed. "You _don't_ have a choice in this," she snapped. "I'm sorry if you feel violated, but I've a duty to perform, and I won't leave until it's discharged. Don't make me force you, Severus. I can and I will."

He turned back to her slowly, his eyes flashing a warning she was too slow to heed. "_Expelliarmus_." Her wand flew from her hand, and he caught it with insouciant disdain. He took two measured steps until he was standing right before her.

She straightened her spine, refusing to be cowed, despite her alarm. "Don't be foolish, Severus. Are your memories worth Azkaban?"

"My memories are priceless," he said in a soft voice. "You cannot take them from me."

"I have no choice but to take them from you," she said in a voice full of regret. "But if you tell me what it is you fear the most, I can try and ameliorate the loss."

He stared at her, his eyes calculating, and finally said, "Even if you take away only those memories directly related to the crystal, you will be damning me to a life of nothing but ghosts and ashes. I gave you this world. I demand a place in it as my price."

She frowned. "Severus, you hold an important place in this world. No one can take that away. There is far more to you than ghosts and ashes. You must understand, I have a duty. I will only take the knowledge there was a crystal."

His eyes glittered with anger as he whispered, "No."

Taking a deep breath for patience, she said, "Is this about Lily? I won't interfere with your memories of her. I won't touch them. I'll only take the last ones, where you actually saw the crystal, and the memory of returning it to me."

"It's not about Lily bloody Potter! You can't have them! Not while I live," he growled.

"Severus, there is no need to be so dramatic! You won't notice they're gone."

"I _will_," he snapped. "I'll notice my life has no meaning again. Saving your world gave my life a purpose. If you take it away, I'll have no peace with my past!"

She blinked. "And you do now?"

"Yes. When I chose this," he slashed his hand through the air, "I chose to let the dead stay dead. You cannot take that moment away."

"I won't," she said. "I'll only take—"

"No! No and no and _no!_ What part can't you understand? I'd rather be _dead_."

"Severus, I—"

"You want them so much? Then have them!" He lifted his wand, and she jumped back as he hissed, "_Legilimens!_"

She cried out as she felt his attack, throwing up a defense that was, as yet, only rudimentary. However, his presence stayed only long enough to grasp onto hers and drag it back into his own mind. Disoriented, she grabbed onto him as she found herself under siege from not just his memories, but his thoughts and emotions. The first thing she became aware of was the primal howl of pain, an absolute devastation that turned her soul to dust. Images flickered in and around the pain. She saw herself, among many, many other faces… One pushed its way to the forefront, and she cried out at the magnitude of the loss.

_She's dead. The only true friend she ever had is dead, and it's her fucking fault… She was weak and scared and cowardly, and she killed her Lily…_

Hermione felt her knees give out, and he pulled her against him as she sank under the weight of his bone-crushing despair.

_With a low moan, she realizes she's responsible for so many more..._ _Marlene KcKinnon, Vincent Crabbe, Colin Creevy, Cedric Diggory, Edgar Bones, Ted Tonks and his daughter, Nymphadora, Benji Fenwick… Gods, the list was endless. So many people who would have still been walking the earth if she hadn't been such a fool. The orphans she'd created, the life she'd condemned Longbottom to…_

_The pain, the pain was overwhelming… Oh, Albus… Albus…_

:

He stands before Dumbledore, trying to read the warrant for his arrest as his hands shake in terror. It's the first time he's felt anything since the days following Lily's death, and it's galling that all he can feel is fear. He's been afraid for the last three years of his life and had wrongly believed that with the Dark Lord defeated nothing could scare him again.

The threat of Dementors proves him wrong. They terrify him.

He looks up, clinging to the last shred of his dignity to keep him from begging. He won't beg. Not to this man. Never again. He'd done everything he'd been told, and Dumbledore had let her die anyway…

"Don't worry, Severus. I'll make sure you don't get kissed. You've earned your freedom."

Severus feels the relief and self-loathing crawling under his skin. How can he want to be alive when Lily's dead?

:

He carries the box of Sober-up Potions and Headache Remedies up to the fourth floor staffroom as he does every year on orders from the headmaster. It's the only way the wily, old goat can make him attend the staff Christmas party. As he approaches the door, he hears Minerva yell, "Charity's at the door!" and a loud guffaw.

He pulls open the door, and they all burst into raucous laughter, pointing over his head. He looks up in confusion and sees the one sprig of mistletoe that he'd not already found and Vanished. Adolescent imbeciles.

He glowers at them all as the new Muggle Studies teacher sways toward him. "I'm not afraid! Nothing scares me!"

Before he can react, her arms are around his neck, and she's kissing him. She tastes of whisky and garlic. When she pulls away, he sneers at his fellow staff, furious at being the object of their amusement.

"Ha!" Burbage cries. "The jokes on all of you! Severus is a wonderful kisser!"

He blinks and swivels his head back around to look at her.

:

It's his birthday. He sits in bed with a corner of the blanket thrown over his hips, polishing off the bottle of wine as he stares down at the sleeping Muggle Studies teacher sprawled next to him. He contemplates prodding her awake with a toe and telling her to fuck off. Not only was she a lousy lay, but he'd got her piss-drunk this time and she still hadn't given him so much as a peck on the cheek.

Slag.

He contemplates seducing Narcissa again. After a few glasses of wine, the ice princess would kiss a house-elf…

Charity rolls over in her sleep and when her hand brushes against his leg, she makes a happy little sound and curls her arm around him possessively.

Perhaps she's not as bad as all that, he thinks.

:

"Severus, please…"

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

He watches Dumbledore fall over the wall. He can't hear what happens next, he's too busy screaming inside.

:

"Severus, please… we're friends..."

"Nagini, dinner…"

Severus smiles blandly at the Dark lord's mirth as yet another weight drags his soul closer to hell.

:

"_Coward!_"

:

"Wake up, old man. You have to wake up."

Snape feels someone slap him and opens his eyes in anger. Pain. Oh, Christ, the pain!

A face hovers above him, and his eyes are slow to focus. Lucius. It's Lucius. Gods, he looks awful.

Snape realizes he's lying in the floor of the Shrieking Shack. His eyes go wide as the memories return. The snake! The fucking snake! He tries to turn his head, searching for it and a fresh wave of agony washes over him. He can't move his neck.

He looks up into Lucius's eyes, feeling frightened… confused…. helpless… Why had Lucius saved him?

Lucius reads his question on his face and gives a small shake of his head. "I owed you for Draco." With a smirk, and he adds, "Besides, for some reason that completely eludes me, I've always been rather fond of you..."

Snape scowls and uses the anger to flip himself over, pushing himself to his hands and knees with a gurgle of pain. Malfoy grabs his shoulders and drags him to his feet with an ease that makes Snape shudder. The older wizard had always been deceptively strong…

:

Snape opens the package and watches as his Order of Merlin falls into his lap. He scans the accompanying note and then picks the medal up and tosses it onto his hospital tray. Meaningless. Everything is meaningless. He closes his eyes and tries to recapture the dream he'd had of Gertie. It had seemed so real.

Christ, they'd been so young and jaded…

:

Severus stands before his students, watching them watching him. It's his first class since the war. As he looks over the faces, so young, so frightened, so much the same as every year before, he wonders again if saving him had been another of Malfoy's petty revenges. With a sigh, he says, "Open your books to page twenty-six…"

:

"Run, Severus! Your mum will kill you if you get your new coat wet!" Severus watches as Lily takes his hand and dashes down the street to get out of the rain. She looks over her shoulder at him and laughs, and his ten-year-old self laughs back. He remembers her hand had felt so warm in his. He wishes he could feel that warmth just once more.

Maybe he can…

:

'_Of course I do. You're you…'_ Severus replays her casual remark repeatedly as he watches Granger re-file the reports she'd been looking at. He notes the clumsy way she swaps out the tampered reports with fraudulent ones. His eyes dart over to Urquhart across the room. He's even less talented at subterfuge, the bloody Hufflepuff. His brother would have been ashamed of the way this one aimlessly shuffles through files, all the while staring at Granger's back. Snape narrows his eyes at him and stares until the twerp feels his attention, and then sneers as the fool flushes with guilt and starts pulling out files.

He glances back at Granger as she slams a drawer shut. He doesn't know what to make of her. Why would she have held her silence about his uncouth behavior all this time? He would have thought it enough ammunition for years of petty jibes, not just the one.

She straightens up and heads for the door, and his eyes sweep her frame in a quick assessing glance.

She really _does_ have lovely tits.

The door opens, and his eyes widen as Caleb Lloyt saunters in. Christ, first Granger brings up Gertie, now he's staring at Lloyt. It has to be twelve years since he'd last seen the bastard. It must be the season to resurrect the ghosts of his past.

Snape feels his hair stand up at the way Granger seems to turn into a twit at the sight of him. He grimaces and closes his own notes, tossing his file into a box for someone else to put away.

"Do you _mind_?"

Drawing himself up to a halt behind Granger, he stares Lloyt down with contempt, letting him know in terms only a Slytherin would understand that Granger holds protected status.

He sees a flash of understanding and anger in the other man's eyes.

Good.

:

"Dear lord! Did you see the paper? Look!"

He sets down his tea and turns to give the Headmistress his full attention. He blinks several times as she rattles the newspaper in his face, and he has to snatch it from her before she makes him cross-eyed.

The headline is alarming enough, but when he scans the article, one name leaps out at him. Granger has nearly been killed in a vicious attack in Myanmar.

He spends the rest of the breakfast staring daggers at the students while wondering why this bothers him so much.

:

"I was warned I was wrong about you. I should have listened."

He stares down at his notes and scowls. Why should he care what her opinion was? She was just… Granger. Granted, she was amusing and ridiculously easy to bait—she'd even managed to score a few hits, something no one had done in ages—but she was just…

He sits in a stew, irritated that someone would have told her she was wrong about him. The fact that she _was _wrong had nothing to do with it. It was the principle of the thing.

:

Lloyt. He should have known. That stupid bastard had ignored his warning. Surely she's not that gullible. He should say something, warn her, not that anyone had ever heeded his warnings.

"He's only interested in one thing."

"True, but that's not a problem anymore, now that I'm not his boss."

His head snaps up in surprise.

:

A slow, sexy smile of invitation tilts the corner of her mouth. "I _like_ older men."

He feels a frisson of desire and assesses her warm, brown eyes, with their flecks of honey-gold, the high cheek bones, the rosebud mouth—he has a weakness for a beautiful mouth—and her pointed little chin. She's certainly pleasant to the eyes when contemplated in this light. He catches her gaze and revels in the pink flush creeping onto her cheeks.

Oh, yes. Oh, yes indeed.

He feels an effervescent thrill as he sees her respond to him. It obliterates his initial impression that she was too young for his taste. Her eyes dilate and her lips part, just slightly, and he knows that he could probably take her right here on the table. A few more whispered words and a few privacy charms and he could be a very happy man.

He totes up the consequences and decides the loss of honor isn't worth the conquest. He knows he could make her enjoy it, but her regret would be swift and harsh. Her silence about his rude behavior in St. Mungo's deserves more respect, and she's oddly pleasant company. He decides to leave her alone.

But not without a warning. Little girls shouldn't play with matches…

"Craving a bit of experience, are you?"

:

"It could be the birth of a new type of magical species, or a fantastic new magical artifact. It could be a rift in the space-time continuum allowing one to change history or shape the future, and it might even be a chance to chat with the Buddha…"

Severus seizes on that one phrase to the exclusion of everything else. '…to change history…'

Gods, he'd trade his nutsack for a chance to change history.

:

He watches Granger disappear through his Floo and feels his mind struggle as two thoughts vie for primacy. They are both disturbing in their own way, but for two wholly different reasons.

The first makes his blood run cold; it might really be conceivable to change the past.

The second makes his blood run warm… Granger's coy 'Not tonight, anyway,' has left him… _hungry_.

As he tidies up the wine glasses, he finds himself hoping that Lloyt got his head bashed in over a gambling debt. He heads toward his bed, popping open the buttons on his robes.

He pulls them off, and as the chill of the castle walls stipples his exposed skin, his mind starts listing his dead.

:

He sits in the Minister's office, feeling his skin crawl. A prophecy. A plague upon fucking prophecies!

This could complicate things…

Gods, she looks _devastated_. And bloody Potter, of course he understands.

He sucks in a breath and blows it out slowly. Steady, Snape. It's a long shot, but this could work. You just need to stay focused.

Snape winces as her chin comes up and she stares them all down.

Gods. The way she looks at him as if he was her fucking friend…

What the hell was he doing here? This was wrong. He was wrong. Why was he doing this?

He shouldn't be here. She deserves better than this from him.

You can't change the past.

:

Can you?

:

He feels her stare and turns to her. He knows that she's responsible for killing the Turk. Urquhart hadn't said so in his report, but he didn't need to. Snape can see it in the dead expression in her eyes. Sitting across the room, she looks hollow. Fragile. And yet the heat radiating off of her when she looks at him belies her delicate manner.

He understands. She's numb. He's seen this look in his own mirror in the past.

She just wants to feel again, but doesn't want to have to think.

He wants to know what she's hiding.

He can give her what she needs. Quid pro quo.

He stares at her perfect, rosebud lips and chooses to let her decide.

Oh, but he could make this one feel…

:

"I want to not care…"

:

He sits naked in his bed and stares in terror at the play of early morning light along the curve of her cheek. His mind races from one primal need to another. The need to wake her and take her again, to ravish her body and feel her lips against his again. The need to throw himself at her feet and confess his duplicitous motivations and beg her to absolve him. The need to lock the doors and block the Floo so she can't ever leave. He knows he can't bear to ever see her leave.

He's terrified. He's out of control.

His gaze travels along the curve of her breast, and he feels a surge of possessiveness rip through him. Everything he's ever wanted is right here in his bed. She's perfect. Clever, beautiful, and fiercely loyal. He's waited years for her and never knew…

His heart won't stop racing in his chest, and the room doesn't have enough air.

Weak.

He's weak.

He feels small and terrified, caught in the battle between what he wants and what he needs.

Oh, gods, he wants her…

He remembers her words the night before—'_I want to not care…_'—and closes his eyes against the pain. Just because he wants her doesn't mean she returns the sentiment. This was supposed to be a diversion.

Best to stick with the plan.

His tempus charm goes off, signaling the start of another school day. He slashes his hand at it, silencing it as her brow wrinkles from the noise. He watches as she sinks back into slumber with a little sigh.

He's so pathetic.

He backs away, careful not to jolt the bed.

What he wants has never been important.

Sucking in a deep breath, he blows it out.

It was just a kiss.

Perhaps she'd already had too much to drink when she'd arrived in his rooms…

:

He drains yet another glass of wine, staring at the bedroom door. How dare she judge him?

He fills the glass again, ignoring the giggling imbeciles surrounding him, and just stares at the door.

She'd tossed him out of the room because she didn't like his fucking _story_. He'd warned her it wasn't a good story, hadn't he?

He gulps his wine, hoping it will soothe the burning in his gut. The bitter gall of having been judged before the whole tale was known. He hopes it will erase the memory of the smile she'd given him and the way her thumb had stroked his hand as well. Erase the horror he'd felt when she'd been hurt…

Draining the glass again, he tosses it to the floor and pushes up off the shoddy couch, swiping at his mouth with his sleeve.

How dare she judge him without knowing the entire story…?

:

Snape wakes up still drunk with hippogriffs pecking at his brain. He opens one eye to find her smiling down at him.

Closing his eye, he contemplates the question of whether or not being an adorable idiot is a bad thing. He decides it's not and that he needs to marry the wench while she's still young and stupid.

Just as soon as his head stops pounding.

:

He seats himself before Minerva's desk, staring up at Dumbledore's portrait. With a flick of his hand, the other headmasters leave. It's a privilege he still has as a former headmaster himself.

"What can I help you with, Severus?"

"A matter of ethics and philosophy," he replies.

Dumbledore twinkles and fold his hands in his lap. "Wonderful! And what's the topic?"

"Changing the past…"

Albus' twinkle dims, and he gives Severus a sad look. "You can't change the past, my boy. Only learn to live with it."

Severus takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly. "But what if I could? That's my question. If I had a choice between happiness or going back and righting the wrongs I've caused, which should I choose?"

Dumbledore stares into his eyes, and Snape has to remind himself that a portrait can't read minds. "Are we talking hypothetically? Or is there something you want to tell me?"

"Hypothetically, of course," he replies, crossing one leg over the other as if settling in for a long debate. "The Summer is about to begin, and I'm already bored."

:

She'd given up. He can feel his physical reaction to her admission still sizzling under his skin. The knowledge of how close he'd come to losing her nearly unmans him.

Her face is all flame and shadow as she sinks down onto him. As he pierces her welcoming body, he wants nothing more than to slip deeper inside until he's hidden from the world completely. To spend eternity coiled around the warmth of her heart. He's content in these moments. The urgency that seems to have taken hold of his life fades away when he's with her.

He's so weak.

Every day, his resolve erodes, and all he wants is this. The way she gives herself to him so selflessly. The way she seems to need him, as if she cannot get enough. He knows he never will. It's so different with her. He feels an almost adolescent awe at how much more there is to be had when the heart is compromised.

And his is thoroughly compromised. He loves her.

He's never been so sure of anything before. The awareness had ripped across his entire being when he'd seen her bleeding on the rock by the water's edge. He was a fool to not see it happening. Looking back his heart had started gnawing on its leash after her first cheeky grin in the Ministry records office.

The knowledge torments him. The burden of the past is so heavy, but she is light and peace…

He's chained to his duty, but he's weak and human and needy.

He's terrified of losing her...

:

He wakes up and feels himself crushed under the weight of his dead. He can barely move, the grief is so heavy. He sees a shadow move on the wall by the door and realizes she's still here. He closes his eyes and sighs with profound relief. He's not alone.

Yet.

He will be once she understands. He's surprised that she hasn't seen it yet. Every day he expects her to turn to him with accusation. Every day his iron-clad resolution corrodes a little more, rusting from the oxygen she provides. He wants to tell her. Blurt out his poisonous truth and throw himself on her mercy.

He can't give in. Not when she's so close to finding her answers. His answers.

He hears her moving, whispering spells, and he pushes himself up out of the bed. His duty calls. A part of him doesn't want her to open that bloody box, and yet he knows if she doesn't…

…he will.

And then she'll hate him.

:

He holds her as the water sprays over them, torn between his bone-chilling dread of how close she came to his shame, his remorse for causing her tears, and the soul-sucking guilt from how he's been siphoning every scrap of knowledge from her under the guise of 'helping.'

These last days with her, having her in his bed every night, the way she wakes him with a kiss in the morning, have been the sweetest of tortures. A glimpse into what he could have had if he'd not been burdened. This is what he deserves. It's all he's ever wanted.

Christ, he loves her.

But it's such a fragile thing…

If she were to ever discover his past…

If she were to ever discover his _present_…

He shudders, and turns his face into the spray.

:

"Severus! I've been so looking forward to our discussion this week. I believe I've found a way it could work…" Albus sits forward in his chair, eager to thrash out their 'hypothetical' exercise again.

Snape settles down before his former desk with a pilfered glass of Minerva's whisky. "You mean how to impart the needed knowledge?"

"Yes! You see, we were stuck on the issue that only ideas could remain behind. And if you're limited by how long you can stay, then you're limited on how much information you can impart. But what about memories? They are, after all, only ideas…"

"So you're proposing that a strand of memory could survive after the owner leaves again?"

"I believe it could be a way to get around the paradox, yes. Your physical self would, of course, already exist in your past, but not your memories. Therefore, if the laws do apply and cancel out one of your selves, then I believe if you saved your memories outside your self, they might actually remain behind. They would have no counterpart and have no actual physical manifestation, and therefore, might be immune to the laws of both time and physics."

"Fascinating," he said, sipping his drink. He doesn't know whether to weep or rejoice. "Do go on…"

:

He has a duty. Everything else is just sadistic temptation. The little looks that she gives him. Her offer of a future together. All of it is just a sick enticement, trying to force him to abandon his responsibility. He can feel it, crawling along under his skin, clawing at him from the inside.

Yes, he could have her. He could keep her and together they could build a future.

But he's unclean. A murderer. His sins would taint everything, and in the end, she would hate him, just as Lily had. He finishes making the Portkey to Greece and sets it on the table before his fireplace. Staring into the empty grate, he resolves to not give in. No matter how tempted, no matter how willing to be tempted, ultimately, his duty lies with the souls of all the people he's killed.

He can do this. As long as he's the one to reach the crystal first, he can redeem all of his past misdeeds. What he wants is nothing in the face of that.

Besides, he thinks he's found a way to meet both needs. He just needs patience.

Twenty-five years' worth of patience.

He knows he can do it, he already has.

She's worth it.

:

Standing in his sitting room, he rubs at his chest to try and ease the ache. Wrong, he thinks. He was wrong.

No, he tells himself. She almost ruined everything. If she'd finished that sentence, he would have turned his back on _everything_. On Lily, on Albus, on Frank and Alice Longbottom… He's doing the right thing.

Shaking his head, he turns and looks back at the dying green flames. This doesn't feel right. Not at all. The way she looked at him, the flat tone in her voice. '_Yes. I believe we're finished._'

But it's for the greater good, he thinks. It's worth it, even if she's angry at him now. Nothing matters if he can reset the world and start again. He needs to separate out his feelings. This is no time to allow himself the luxury of emotions.

His desires are a weakness...

He scowls, unable to find peace with himself. He scrubs at his scalp, feeling the air thicken around him as it had in the tunnel to the temple.

He doesn't understand why it's so hard to separate what he wants from what he needs to do. He's always done it so well before. He killed Albus, for fuck's sake. She's just one person in the grand scheme of things.

Just… Granger.

She doesn't really care for him. She's only deluding herself because her own fears are too great. She just needs the momentary serenity she thinks she finds in his bed. He needs to keep his focus. She's using him.

'_I want to not care…'_

Why was it so hard to keep his focus? He was a _spy_. It's what he does. But now… it's as if she's broken him in some way.

Panic explodes in his chest, and he lunges for the mantle, grabbing up a handful of powder and tossing it into the grate. He _needs _to hear those words. Needs to explain. It can't be too late! She has a forgiving nature…

The green flames burst back to life, and he shouts, "Hermione Granger's!"

The flames gutter out, leaving him staring in horror at his empty fireplace.

Oh, gods… She's blocked his access.

He's lost her.

The pain in his chest turns into a searing fire, and he wraps his arms around it as he sinks to his knees and howls.

Even huddled on his knees before his fireplace, moaning out his loss, a part of him is still sound enough to begin to wonder if he's not going mad…

:

Severus tosses back the whisky and pours himself another with a shaking hand.

He hears her words echoing in his sitting room. '_Severus, couldn't you see to what extent that part went out the window?_'

Did she think he was fucking _blind?_ What she wanted was always right there in front of him. Taunting him. Only ever as far away from his grasp as a sigh and a surrender, and yet he _couldn't fucking have her_. Not yet. Not in this reality…

He drinks, desperate to numb the pain.

She was going to die. It had been there on her face, as plain as day. Not the fear of failure she'd worn like a veil these last weeks, it had been the horrible acceptance that had made him shake.

He'd needed to find a way to go with her. He couldn't trust those other dunderheads to do the right thing. Potter wouldn't go back far enough. It had been such a simple plan… get caught reading her translation and worm his way onto the team with a show of remorse and a little seduction.

But he'd walked into a trap instead. Everything in the room had been a lie. He'd panicked, thinking she'd set it for _him_, and then it had all gone horribly wrong...

Oh, gods, _she knows_… His entire body shudders from revulsion at the thought of what Gertie must have told her. He'd wanted to strangle her, so great was his feeling of betrayal, and yet when she'd started to cry, he'd almost tried to comfort her. The conflicting desires had nearly torn him in two.

He's ruined everything. He'd been so caught off guard that he'd been unable to hide his reaction and let his temper get in the way. The things he'd said were unforgivable.

If he'd still had a chance, he could excuse it. Anything he did was acceptable as long as he could reset the world and erase his actions. But now? How was he to get the crystal now?

He downs his drink and reaches for the bottle, only to find it empty. With a snarl he flings it against the wall watching with empty satisfaction as the glass shards rain down on his workbench.

It was ludicrous that he was sitting here hurt and betrayed when he'd gone to her room for the express purpose of manipulating and betraying _her_.

Oh, gods. The things he'd called her…

Dropping his head into his hands, Severus feels his sanity shredding.

The locket. There was something in that locket.

'_I hate that I hurt you…'_

He throws his head back and screams.

:

He stands atop the Astronomy tower, letting the wind buffet him and half hoping it will push him off.

He's powerless.

She's gone, off chasing a crystal he will never see. Saving a world he no longer cares about. He waits for the moment when his reality will change. Who will reach it? Who will be the bloody Saoshyant? He hopes it's Potter. Surely he would save his parents and the Longbottoms as well. All's not lost yet. It's just out of his control.

He's free, and yet freedom feels as dull and lifeless now as it did when Malfoy woke him up on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. He's alive, but to no purpose. He's saved no one, and the woman he loves has gone off to die without him. He has failed in so many ways he can't begin to tally them, so he doesn't bother.

Still, there is a certain peace in surrender. He no longer feels tormented by the demons that had been driving him. He doesn't really care anymore. Not about his dead, and not about her. He's blissfully numb. His only emotion a vague satisfaction that now he can't betray her anymore. Of course, he can't have her either, so there is little reward.

A glimmer catches his eye, and he watches the streak of silver come closer. He finds himself only mildly curious as to what news is hurtling through the air towards him.

A silver weasel lands at his feet, and he hears Arthur's voice… "Severus, you must come! They've killed Philips. They must know where the crystal is. Hermione's in danger! They're all in danger!"

He closes his eyes for a moment, and in that instant, he feels all of his demons awaken. Opening his eyes, he throws himself off the tower, exploding into flight just before he hits the ground. It's but a moment before he lands outside the gates, and with a twist, he's gone.

:

He stands in the middle of the forest blinking away the retina burn as the Patronus fades.

It's over.

He's lost.

He feels his fragile sanity judder and tilt under the conflicting feelings of failure and relief until it rights itself and settles into place.

Confused, he takes an experimental breath and blows it out. He feels as if an enormous weight has been lifted off him. The demons have flown. He no longer feels as if he's being driven, trapped inside his own skin. He doesn't understand why he feels so serene.

He's failed.

He's spent months using her for his own ends. Along the way he discovered that she was precious and perfect and yet he _still_ willfully undermined any future he could have had with her. Justifying it as for the greater good. He sacrificed his chance to have her in this reality for a chance to save the others and wait for her in another.

For nothing.

His confusing peace of mind evaporates, leaving only helpless anger behind. Some fuckwit had changed time just enough to leave him standing cold and alone in a forest on the arse end of the world.

He's lost them all. Lily, Albus, Charity, _and_ his Hermione.

His anger grows. Everything he'd ever wanted had been his for the taking, and he'd thrown it away in a fit of madness. He finds himself growing angry with _her_. How dare she be so perfect? How dare she turn his life so completely upside down? How dare she dredge up his past and throw it in his face? And then, instead of the disgust he'd expected, she'd apologized. '_I hate that I hurt you_…'

No one had ever cared if they'd hurt him before… Did that change the rules? _Could_ he forgive her?

Would she ever be able to forgive _him?_

No. How could she? Winning her back would be just as hopeless a quest as trying to save Lily. He was done with foolish dreams.

He turns his head at the sound of a twig snapping underfoot. One of Chilikov's people coming to investigate the light.

He pushes the pain and confusion away, and lets his wand drop into his hand. _Focus_. With a feral grin, he Disillusions himself and lets his rage consume him.

Lloyt is still alive, and she's still in danger.

With a slash of his wand, he sends a reply, and then goes hunting.

Amends have been denied to him. All that's left is to try and atone.

:

* * *

><p>:<p>

And there you go...


	38. Chapter 38

**AN**: And so it ends. Thank you to all my reviewers, I adore you crazy people. Special thanks to Hebe GB, for her patience, dedication, and gentle input. Thanks also to MistressBlackSnape, for her alpha cheerleading. If I hadn't felt bad for leaving her hanging, I might not have come back to prod this one with a stick. Love and hugs to you all, you are all a light in a crazy day.

Last time, to make it official: Not mine, no money.

:

* * *

><p>:<p>

Hermione wrenched her mind out of Severus' memories and gasped from the pain. "Stop," she croaked through her tears. "Please."

She opened her eyes and found herself cradled between his thighs as he leaned against the coffee table. They were both sprawled on the floor of his sitting room in front of his fire. Her mind reeled from the depths of his emotions and his betrayal. After seeing what he'd tried to do and what it had cost him, his betrayal seemed negligible.

He nudged her face back toward his with a warm hand against her cheek and looked at her with his sad, dark eyes. "There's more," he whispered, stroking her jaw with a calloused finger. "You need to see the rest. I did vile things. Even trying to explain won't fully show you the depths that I had sunk to."

She swiped at her face with her sleeve, mopping at the tears, and shuddered at the dread and foreboding in his voice. "You found a way to salvage your memories, didn't you?"

He flinched and nodded his head. "It wasn't hard. I already had most of what I needed from my own research into the subject."

Swallowing, she closed her eyes. She wanted to say no, tell him that she'd seen enough, but that just made her feel cowardly and more than a little callous. She needed to share the burden, he deserved no less. "Show me what you need me to know." She shuddered as she felt his wand graze her temple.

_Again she was surrounded by the primal howl of pain, the absolute devastation that turned her soul to dust. _

_Oh, gods… _

…_it wasn't his grief for Lily and the others… _

…_it was his grief for her…_

:

_Fool! You absolute fool! You knew he was still alive! He had to be here somewhere!_ This was the price of obsession! He'd stopped thinking completely!

She raises her face to him, looking confused and frightened. She lifts her hand, like a child showing off a flower she'd picked, and he sees the blood. Light glitters off the dagger handle in her belly. His heart stops in his chest and her blood seems to spread across his eyes as the rage consumes him. He sees nothing but the red staining her hand…

Rage. He's consumed with rage. He revels in it, feeling nothing more than his desire to kill this man. This petty little waste of humanity who served no purpose in this life other than to bring pain.

He can feel the blood pouring down his back. His arms grow weaker by the second, and the spots before his eyes are nearly blinding him. He's cold. The shivering is making his teeth rattle. He shakes his head to clear his vision and sees Lloyt's mocking bow. He lunges at him…

"Get off!"

He becomes aware of how close they are to the edge. He turns and sees her plant her feet and heave. The idiot girl! Doesn't she realize how close—

"No."

He grabs her arms to stop her fall…

"No!"

He feels his stomach heave, his fear nearly making him vomit as he follows, trying to get purchase. His gloves! Where did his fucking gloves go? He grabs at Lloyt's leather coat, but it slides through his slick hands. His hands… The blood on his hands won't allow him to save her…

"_NO!"_

She looks at him and he sees…

…acceptance.

Love.

Pride.

She's _proud_ that she's saved him.

He screams.

He's still screaming when the bright, pinkish white light winks out like a candle in a gale.

Falling to his knees, arms hanging loose at his sides, he sobs out his grief and loss to the endless night. Throwing back his head, his voice cracks as he bellows, "_HERMIONE!_"

The echoes fade into the wilderness and he's left alone.

Shattered.

'_I have to die_.'

"No," he moans, folding himself in half until his nose is nearly touching the ground. "Fuck you!" he shouts. "Fuck you all!" He drags in a ragged breath and sobs. "_It's not_ _fair!_"

Even devastated by her loss, he's stunned by her choice. If she'd grabbed him, he could have ridden into eternity in her arms, and Lloyt would have saved the fucking world.

She'd failed.

She'd been so adamant that time shouldn't be abused, and yet she'd saved the man who wanted to erase _decades_, and killed the man that only wanted to erase heartbeats. After everything he'd done to her, she chose to save _him_, not Lloyt, when by her beliefs saving him had clearly been the wrong option.

Wrapping his arms around himself, he moans at the memory of her voice. '_Severus, thank you.'_

'_For what?'_

'_For caring.'_

He cared. God knows how he'd cared. But what good came of it? He'd never told her.

Meaningless. It's all meaningless. His life is nothing but dust and ashes. He's worse than Lloyt, who brought pain and suffering to everything he touched. Snape brings death. Always death.

'_Sometimes I think you look like a thestral. Not exactly romantic, I know, but they have a beauty about them as well and are terribly misunderstood.'_

Planting one hand on the ground, he shudders and mops at his face with a corner of his filthy cloak. A thought whispers across his conscience, a remnant of the duty that had been driving him all this time.

He can give them all life again.

He turns his head and sees the crystal, still glittering from within. Glittering with the energy that she'd somehow given it.

Or he can give them all death. Let the crystal explode and snuff out this miserable existence.

'_And you trust me enough to tell?'_

'_Of course I do. You're _you_.'_

He pushes himself to his feet, stumbling several times before he can stand. Blood loss has left him weak and slow and cold… so very cold. He knows he's running out of time, and the knowledge brings a ghastly laugh that bubbles forth like vomit. He looks toward the cliff edge, and the turns back and looks at the crystal. He wonders if the light within it is warm.

'_I'll take what you can give. We'll worry about tomorrow when we've ensured there will be tomorrows.'_

He _can_ save them all. Everyone. He can fix this…

'_Gods, but you are an incredible man.'_

He reaches for the crystal, sprouting from its nest of yellow stones.

'_Why do I like you?'_

He can save them…

'_I want to kiss you again."_

He pauses, trapped by his torment. He can save them, yes…. but she won't be the same.

He wants _his_ Hermione… the one that called him an adorable idiot. Not some other who'd grow up never having known him. She could end up thinking of him as nothing more than some homely, middle-aged fool who stalks her for no reason.

He wants the woman who had such a ridiculous amount of faith in his better nature. The woman who kissed him, because it never occurred to her that he was too ugly to kiss. He wants the foolish Know-it-all that could read Phoenician but couldn't _cook_.

He needs the woman who knew about his shameful past and didn't think less of him.

'_I can't stand that I've hurt you!'_

He blinks away the white dots swimming across his vision. He's cold. So cold. Death is so very near. As he feels its claws sinking deeper into him, he knows that all he wants, more than anything in the world, is to taste her kiss again…

With a gurgle of guilt and pain, his choice is made.

It's only a matter of when. What would _she_ want? He flails, hoping to grasp what she would consider the right thing. He could reset time to any point. At least take away her dead, even if he must forsake his own.

But she wouldn't want him to change time very much. She was clear on that. She wouldn't want him to do more than the minimum. But should he anyway? She was ludicrously selfless, as all Gryffindors were. It would just be like the idiot girl to want him to _not_ save her.

'_You don't understand. If I lose one of them, I'm finished. There's no way I'll be able to function. They're all I have.'_

Gryffindors were perennially stupid when it came to such things.

He raises his eyes to the sky, and whispers, "Forgive me…" as his hand closes around the crystal. He feels the magic return in a paroxysm of ecstasy and knows he's made the right choice.

For just one infinitesimal moment that lasts for an eternity, he knows peace.

:

Hermione swam back to the surface of his thoughts, desperate to separate his grief and guilt from her own. Images flickered and emotions swirled in her mind, making her almost nauseous and disoriented. Overwhelmed by his madness, she struggled to push it away… his conviction that the end justified the means, his terror from seeing her standing in the cold mud with her hands in the air, defeated. She sucked in a deep breath, still wrestling with the tears he couldn't shed as he pressed his forehead into her naked shoulder, wracked by self-loathing and shame over what he'd just done, and what he still had to do, even as he was already reaching for the catch on her locket. The cold, calculation as he turned his pistol on her and pressed it against the delicate vein in her temple.

She reached for her own thoughts, dragging with her the one last conviction that he'd held. It was wrong. It was so wrong.

She opened her eyes and looked at him, seeing the tracks of tears and the inevitable guilt. He stared down at her with dead eyes, the felon ready for his judgment. She swallowed and tentatively reached her arms around him, resting her head against his shoulder. He shuddered and tightened his hold on her, pressing his cheek against the top of her head. They stayed that way in silence as she pulled her thoughts together. He stroked her arm through the sleeve of her robes with his thumb.

When she thought she was able to speak without crying, she lifted her head and twisted it around to see his eyes. "You think I can't forgive you," she whispered.

The memory of his bone-crushing despair made her shudder. When he'd seen his own memories, seen the level that he'd fallen to, he'd lost all hope and had settled for her simply being alive somewhere in the world.

"You gave me this world, thinking there was no place in it for you."

He swallowed and gave her a cautious nod.

"Oh, Severus," she lifted her hand and cupped his jaw, shaking her head slowly. She knew what he feared, just as surely as she knew her own fears. She knew the depth of his remorse, and the incredible profundity of his love for her. With a small smile, she said, "Slytherins can be perennially stupid when it comes to such things." She leaned forward, sliding her hand up his back and hugging him. "Of course I forgive you."

He closed his eyes, and she felt the trembling shudder ripple across his body. "Oh, gods, Hermione… Do you? Do you really?"

"Of course." She swallowed past the lump in her throat and leaned in and hugged him. "Oh, Severus. I do. I understand that it wasn't all _you_. You must have been feeling the effects of the crystal from the start. The closer you came to controlling it, the worse it would have been. You had to have been fighting desperately to do the right thing, or you wouldn't have grown so unstable. How can I be angry with you for that? Do you think Caleb spent one moment wrestling with his conscience? He killed his own brother and yanked his tooth out, for god's sake. I bet he didn't feel the negativity at all. I think it just fed into his innate nature." She lifted her hand and cupped his jaw. "If you weren't innately good, your actions wouldn't have hurt you so much."

"I'm _not_," he rasped. "I don't dispute the presence of an outside influence, but the crystal didn't put any thoughts in my head that wouldn't have existed otherwise. It only compromised my judgment about them. Magnified their importance." He shook his head. "You always did think too highly of me."

"No I _didn't_. I think you're a hero, Severus, that doesn't mean I think you're a saint. Do you really believe that it never occurred to Harry to save all the people you're mourning? Do you think George wasn't hoping for a way to save Fred? The difference was your guilt. Your need to fix the past was beautiful. I can forgive you for using me when you had so many other people's lives as your priority. Your infuriating nobility is part of what makes you _you_. Everything about your past went into making you a man I would want to kiss, Severus. I don't know how better to explain that."

She watched him as he pondered her words, seeing his thoughts whirling. Biting her lip, she grimaced and leaned closer. "Can you forgive _me?_ I made you give up on your dead."

The line between his eyes deepened, and he shook his head. "No, you didn't. I let them go. I'm at peace with my choice."

She closed her eyes. "But I hurt you, too. I snooped into your past and ripped open an old pain. Not just yours, but Gertie's as well. I was petty and selfish. I wanted to know why you wouldn't let me love you."

He sighed, shaking his head slightly. "Would you have done the same if I hadn't left you so confused? If I hadn't kept shifting out of the way when you thought you could lean on me?"

She grimaced, thinking that a rather apt description. "No. I would have just deviled you with questions instead."

He snorted but then looked at her with sad eyes. "My biggest fear was that you would think less of me if you knew, but you didn't. Once I realized that fact, forgiving you was simply a choice. It was actually quite novel for me."

She sagged against him and smiled. "Oh, thank god. That's been plaguing me. I wasn't sure if you weren't still furious with me and that's why I hadn't heard from you in these last weeks."

He shook his head. "No. That's not why." He tightened his arms around her and rested his head against hers. "I'm tired of manipulating women into giving me the illusion of what I want. I _couldn't_ go to you. It all hurt so much, and I knew if I did try to see you, I'd do something stupid. I thought of not letting you know what I'd done, trying to win back your affections without telling you the truth. Manipulate what I knew were your blind spots and weaknesses, just so I could have you. But I knew it would only last for a short while before the truth ate away at what I wanted. You needed to be the one to come to me. You had to want me of your own free will.

"When I received your first owl, it sounded so cold and brusque. I burned the letter, and the next two as well. Eventually I missed you so much that I thought any interaction with you would be better than none. I still hoped…" He shook his head. "But you wanted to take my memories away…"

"Which was stupid and short-sighted," she said. She sighed and twisted her head to see him. "So now I am here, and of my own free will. Tell me what you want, Severus. Guessing with you has yet to work out well for me."

He looked at her with apprehension and longing, and the silence stretched out between them, growing thick before he whispered, "I just wanted be forgiven."

"And you are. What else do you want?"

He frowned and shook his head slightly. "I need you to know that I never wanted to hurt you."

Smiling gently, she said, "Your memories told me that."

She could see his mind racing and whirling behind his eyes. He lifted his chin with a subtle challenge in his gaze. "I want you to know that I created this world for you because I love you."

She felt the prickle of tears and closed her eyes. "And I love you all the more for it."

She heard him swallow. "Do you? Do you still?" His question was so simple, but the intensity of the quiet words imparted an infinite complexity of aching desire and desperate hope.

She nodded, feeling her lips wobble into a smile. "Yes, very much."

He stared at her with open wonder and increasing hope in his dark eyes. His chest heaved as if he was struggling for breath, and his face screwed up with a blend of fear and desperation.

She shook her head slightly, whispering, "It's not weakness, Severus."

Her breath rushed out as his arms snapped tight around her, and he leaned in and kissed her. She tightened her hold on him and kissed him back and he moaned, deep in his chest. When he slanted his mouth across hers she hummed with happiness as her heart clicked into place.

"I want you," he said against her lips in a harsh whisper before he kissed her again.

She threaded her hands into his hair and pulled away, looking into his fathomless eyes. "Then I'm yours," she replied.

The intense way he looked at her made her hair stand up. "I want you forever…" he intoned.

She felt her face flush as she reacted to his declaration. Forever… With _him_… "I like the sound of that," she said with a grin.

His face contorted into an achingly beautiful smile as his head dipped down again. When their lips met again, he kissed her with such gentle need that she found herself wanting to cry. He groaned softly as their tongues tangled, and his arms swept around her, pulling her away.

He looked at her with challenge. "I want you _now_," he said with a quiet growl that scrambled her wits and did wonderful things to her nerve endings.

"_Oh, yes_," she replied in a breathy voice. His eyes caught fire, and he graced her with a knowing smirk. He leaned in and kissed her breath away, his hands seeking and finding the pins holding up her hair. When his fingers caressed her scalp, she felt her skin pebble from the pleasure. Her heart pounded in her chest as she reached up and popped the top button on his robes.

With a groan he shifted. He never stopped kissing her as he lowered himself down onto the rug with her on top of him. She rained kisses down on his face as she began pulling at the buttons on his robes. With a groan, his fingers tore at hers.

He pulled her up along his body and began kissing her jaw, nudging her head to the side and sucking on the skin below her ear. "You're so beautiful," he said against her neck.

"So are you," she sighed as she scrabbled at his robes. He cupped her breast in his hand, kneading gently as his other hand stroked down her back, pulling her against his hard length. He shifted again, cradling her to him carefully as he rolled them. He looked down on her with eyes that looked like black fire before he dipped his head down and kissed her. Parting the front of her robes, she felt his hair tickle her skin as his lips trailed fire down her skin. When he captured her breast in his mouth, she moaned. He skimmed a hand down her side and along her hip and her thigh, before dragging up the hem of her robes. She gave up on his buttons and went for his belt, snarling with frustration until he lifted up to allow her better access. He chuckled against her collar bone before he planted small kisses in a line toward her breast.

When she traces the outline of his sex through his trousers, gripping him and growling with her rising need, all pretence at seductive foreplay vanished. Their kisses turned fiery, as they clawed at each other, trying to get at each other's skin with varying degrees of success. She heard a button pop loose and go clattering into the fireplace and had no idea whose it was. He slid one hand under the elastic at her hip.

"Tell me you want me," he rasped between kisses as he tugged at her knickers.

"Oh, gods, I do. I want all of you."

He rumbled with satisfaction as he settled over her body. She wrapped her arms around him, trapping him between her legs as she kissed him. His tongue plundered her mouth with a greedy kiss as he fumbled with his clothes, and then she could feel him hot and hard against her. He groaned when they touched and shuddered as he slipped inside.

"Ahhh, _gods_, Hermione," he whispered as he sank the rest of the way. "I want to make love to you forever," he whispered against her lips.

"Please do," she babbled in reply as he began to move.

He kissed her as he began to work his hips, and she moaned. When he pulled back, his eyes were full of warmth and wonder. He rose up onto his hands, and her belly fluttered at the sight of him, straining and gasping with his need. "I never thought I'd be here again. I never thought you'd let me love you the way you should be loved. I've never wanted a woman the way I want you. Every night I relive each and every moment of passion that you shared with me, trying to recapture your smell, your taste, the feel of your skin under my hand, and the soft little cry you make just before you lose control."

She gurgled an incoherent noise, feeling every fiber of her being react to his words. Lost for words, she rose up and grabbed his face and kissed him with frantic need. She let her kiss tell him what her brain was too overloaded to define.

"My Hermione," he whispered against her mouth. "Gods, but how I love you."

The fire popped and crackled as their moans and growls filled the air. Rising to his knees, he stopped and tore off his robes, pulling his torn shirt away as well, revealing his sweat-slick skin. She felt herself grow lightheaded at the sight. Then he pulled her up into his arms and settled her into his lap, leaning back against his reading chair and slipping back inside her with a groan. She kept her lips in constant contact with him, either his mouth or his neck or his shoulder, as they moved together in increasing frenzy, pulling away only when he snatched her torn robes off over her head. He growled and groaned and hissed incoherent curses under his breath as his fingers dug into her hips, helping her move to the rhythm they wanted.

Too soon, far too soon, it was over. Her climax rushed up at her and she surrendered to the inevitable with a cry of pleasure. When she began to moan her release, he bit his lip and rode her through the waves of ecstasy only to be seemingly defeated by her long groan of satisfaction as the intensity waned. He cursed and groaned and, throwing his head back with a growl, he throbbed deep inside her.

He sagged down against the chair and wrapped his arms around her possessively, pulling her down against his heaving chest. She clung to him bonelessly as they recovered.

Sliding his hands up and down her sweaty back, he let forth a contented sigh. "Do you realize how foolish you are, woman?" he whispered, kissing her forehead. "I gave you a chance to escape. I'm never letting you go now."

"I do," she said as his lips left a lazy trail of kisses along her brow. "Do you realize what a headache I am?"

He chuckled darkly. "You always were." He planted a firm kiss below her ear and pulled back. "I still think I'm getting the better end of the bargain."

She snorted. "That should soothe your Slytherin pride, but I have to tell you that I'm not scared of you. I've seen your blemishes, and they don't frighten me at all."

He grimaced. "Hermione, I'm—"

She pressed her thumb to his lips. "You're Severus. You're complicated, exasperating, bewildering, and neurotic. I'm not much better. _Worse_, if you add infuriatingly nosy." She smoothed her hand around his jaw, brushing his cheek with her thumb. "You're also frighteningly noble and otherwise pretty incredible. I'm content with my side of the bargain."

He sighed and reached out, picking her Unspeakable badge up off the floor by her discarded robes. "I need to keep my memories, Hermione. I made my peace with the past and without them, I'll lose that. Any future you and I share would be tainted by that."

"I know," she whispered, taking it from him. "I'll find a way." She gave him a wobbly smile and said, "Time doesn't punish those who are doing it a service. Abel taught me that. He knew I would come back to take up an apprenticeship, because he knew I was doing the right thing. I believe the same principle _must_ apply to you. _You_ were the one that saved time, despite your original intentions. You deserve your memories. I never would have asked for them if I had understood exactly what I was trying to take from you. There has to be some reward for saving the world."

Cupping her jaw in his hand, he leaned in and kissed her tenderly. "You are my reward. The fact that I have you, here in my arms, with no pretense, no ulterior motive, and no burden on my conscience is more than reward enough." He kissed her again. "Especially your kisses. I will never have enough kisses," he said quietly against her lips.

"Yes, you will," she replied. "I'll make that my life's work, if you wish."

His smile grew, and it felt like her heart matched its pace. "I would like that, Hermione. I would like that _very_ much."

She sighed as she leaned in and kissed him again. The fire popped and she leaned her head against him and stared into the flames, feeling a peace and contentment that she hadn't felt in… had she ever felt this way? She sighed happily and kissed his neck.

He hugged her with one arm, plucking her badge out of her fingers and looking at it again. "Did you say you were short staffed…?"

She lifted her head and looked at him. His dark, expressive eyes flicked from the badge to her and back again, before he gave her a little smirk.

She felt her face stretch into a ridiculous grin as she said, "So I did."

His smirk spread into a smile as he looked back at the badge and raised one, speculative, eyebrow…

:

* * *

><p>:<p>

*hugs*


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